Halloween Unspectacular 9: This is fine
by E350
Summary: Thirty-one days, thirty-one shots, thirty-one... wait, how have I been doing this for ten years! Anyway, join me for another month of faux horror and faux humour, while I try to get my life together! Ratings, pairings and genres may vary wildly, read with discretion. Requests will be considered.
1. 01 10 19: Once More!

Here I go again, on my own. Going down the only road I've ever known.

* * *

**01/01/19: Once More!**

The Stranger watched the printer work in the darkness, the green light illuminating the glass eye holes of his mask. His hands were tucked neatly behind his back as he patiently waited - his mind wandered in the gloom.

As each page slipped out onto the tray, he imagined voices in his head.

_"__I call it the Fiddley Thing… you fiddle with the little knob, and you can distort reality!"_

_"__This here doohickie is basically an omnipotent machine of near-limitless power, right?"_

"So much power, and you did nothing to stop it," he whispered. "But then again, that's par for the course."

The machine stopped printing, and he gingerly took the paper in his hands. The air smelt of fresh ink.

"You didn't stop any of it, did you?" he muttered. "The Witchfinders. Galahad. PURITY. You just let it happen. You let what happened to _me_happen."

He gazed at the title - _Halloween Unspectacular 8 _\- and snorted, casting it aside. He reached for the final printout beneath it, looking intently at the picture.

It was a group shot, dated from a long time ago - the caption said it came from 'the Review Room.' He could put names to all of the people present - Danny, Sam, Tucker, Timmy, Spongebob, Sandy, Jimmy, even Plankton hiding under the table. He especially knew of the person in the middle, clad in a white shirt and red tie.

"You don't deserve any of what you have," he growled. "But it's okay."

He reached under his hi-vis jacket and pulled out a lighter.

"I'm here to take it all away."

He struck the lighter and watched as the paper was swallowed by flame.

"Ha! I'm on fire!"

Tucker Foley grinned as Danny folded, showing off his cards. His friend tossed him his winnings in potato chips, shooting him a dirty look.

"I swear, you've gotta be cheating somehow," he muttered. "You can't win six straight times in a row."

"I can if you always fold," replied Tucker. "You gotta take _risks_, dude."

"Uh-huh," nodded Danny. "Where's E3, anyway? He's always got some musical number ready - wasn't he doing some Neil Patrick Harris thing?"

"Yeah but he decided it was too hard," replied Tucker. "So he's probably just gonna do, like, Bad Moon Rising and then go to bed early. I mean, he's getting old, and-"

With a sudden snap, the lights turned off.

"Or he's spent all his money setting up something stupid," said Danny.

"Yep."

They sighed, watching a spotlight shine on the door. From out of nowhere, a slight sheen of dust seemed to appear as it opened, revealing a figure in a robe and a face-concealing hood.

"_Well I come from a land, from a faraway place,  
Where the convicts and kangaroos roam…"_

"I don't think there's actually still con-"

_"Where the bush is immense,  
And the heat is intense,  
It's barbaric, but hey, it's home."_

"Are we… are we doing Dis-"

_"Where Melbourne's in the east and there's Perth in the west,  
And the Queenslanders lean to the right,  
Come on down, stop on by,  
Hop on Qantas and fly,  
To another Australian Night!"_

I threw off the robe and continued to sing.

_"Australian niiiii-iiiiiights!  
And Australian daaaa-aaaays!  
Snakes, spiders and flies,  
They'll make you all die,  
In a lot of cruel waaaaaaays!"_

_"Australian niiii-iiiiiights!  
That Australian mooooo-oooood!  
We're still mining coal,  
And Sydney's a hole,  
It's complex, my duuuuuu-dododo do do dodododo dodo do do!"_

"Oh no," said Tucker flatly.

The door flew open again, revealing Spongebob and Sandy, both in hula skirts. Spongebob began to sing;

_"The algae is always greener,  
In somebody else's life,  
You can't trade away your problems,  
You can't wish away your strife."_

Sandy took up the song;

_"But we've got a little doohickey,  
That makes everything okay,  
Y'all sit down and listen to me,  
I'll show you a better way."_

They high-fived and sang together.

_"Fiddley Thing! Fiddley Thing!  
Robots and genies, monster zucchinis,  
Airplanes that sing!"_

_"All of those things we said and more,  
So tell me what'cha waitin' for?  
How 'bout a pony riding Marconi?  
Fiddley Thing!"_

The door flew open, revealing Stan in a blonde wig.

_"LET IT GOOOOOO  
LET IT GOOOOO  
CAN'T HOLD ME BACK ANY-"_

"No, Stan," I said flatly. "We agreed. We're not doing that one."

"Oh."

The music slowed as Steven and Connie emerged, both dressed in elaborate ballgowns. Steven sung first;

_"Ever just the same…"_

Connie took over;

_"Ever a surprise…"_

They sang in duet;

_"Laugh on even days,  
Odd's the drama way,  
And some karma, guuuuuuys!"_

They glowed, their forms running together - Stevonnie continued.

_"Tales as old as time,  
Hamfisted at the least,  
Never be enough,  
He's obsessed with fluff,  
Shipping is unleashed…"_

The music changed once more, and everyone joined in.

_"There's no other waaaaaay,  
To spend my Halloween,  
It's the October,  
October of Wriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit… _ing."

I bowed to no one in particular.

"Well, here we go," I said. "Once more unto the breach, huh guys? Another normal October full of normal things done by normal people!"

"Nothing about any of this is normal," said Danny flatly.

"Fair."

The door opened, and Sam leaned her head in.

"Hey, there's an eviction notice in your mailbox."

There was a long silence.

"...what."


	2. 02 10 19: Ten Decades

**02/10/19: Ten Decades**

"Hey Dipper?"

"Yeah, Mabel?"

"Do you ever wonder what our lives would be like if we lived in the past?"

"Hmm..."

* * *

_The 1900s_

Jimmy Neutron walked out of the telegraph office, clad in a top hat, suit and tails, his cane under his arm, as piano music played in the background. He strolled down the street, his mouth moving.

_~~By jiminy! What a capital day for a spot of gay inventing!~~_

As he strolled down the street, passing a stolen runabout along the way, he happened upon a newsboy, holding a sandwich board with the day's headline; _ERA OF UNPRECEDENTED PEACE SET TO CONTINUE._

The newsboy, one Carl Wheezer, gazed hopefully at the passing inventor.

_~~Tuppence for the morning chronicle, sir?~~_

Jimmy looked puzzles.

_~~Tuppence? Zounds! I had believed this sketch was set in America!~~_

Carl nodded.

_~~It is, but tuppence sounds more vintage.~~_

Jimmy clicked his fingers.

_~~Apologies, my dear Charles, but I must be off! I am presently in the process of manufacturing a flying machine!~~_

He strolled off, whistling. Carl stood there, blinking.

_~~I fear I shall die of pneumonia.~~_

There was laughter and applause as the film came to an end.

* * *

_The 1910s_

"Company will advance three paces!"

Lance and Keith stepped forward, taking positions by the trench ladder. Lance pursed his lips as he held his rifle close.

"Why exactly are we here, anyway?" he asked.

Keith shrugged.

"Oh, I know!" The section's Lewis Gunner, Hunk, leaned over. "The Archduke of Austria got shot!"

Lance blinked.

"But... we're in _Belgium_. Fighting the _Germans_."

"Fix bayonets!"

"Yeah, well the Austrians threatened the Serbians," said Hunk as they fixed their bayonets, "and the Russians backed the Serbs, so the Germans said they'd back the Austrians."

"What does that have to do with us?" asked Keith.

"Austria invaded Serbia so France declared war on Germany."

"...what?"

"Oh," Pidge leaned in from the other side. "Russia attacked Germany because Austria attacked Serbia, and France is a Russian ally so they declared war on Germany as well."

"And that's why Germany invaded Belgium," said Hunk.

"..._why?!_" exclaimed Lance.

"To get to France," said Hunk.

"And Britain has this treaty with Belgium, so that's why we're here," said Pidge.

Lance blinked.

"Also Romania and Bulgaria are at-"

"Right, okay!" Lance threw down his rifle. "I'm done! This is stupid! I'm going home!"

He stormed away.

* * *

_The 1920s_

"I won't stand for this!" Barney stormed up to the counter at the speakeasy. "My drink tastes like antifreeze!"

"Barn, your drink _is_ antifreeze," said Moe.

"Oh, okay."

Barney took a long swig of his drink.

"I think I'm blind."

"Yeah, that can happen."

"At least I'm drunk!"

* * *

_The 1930s_

Danny, clad in overalls, stood in the middle of a paddock, which was currently being swept by a massive dust swarm. He looked from left to right, seeing nothing but the angry dust cloud, and took a deep breath.

"Well this sucks."

* * *

_The 1940s_

"Let me guess," said Lance as the landing craft sped towards the beach. "This happened because Poland did something and then there was an alliance and Russia and France and Bulgaria and..."

"No, it's that complex," replied Hunk.

"The other side's just unimaginably evil this time," said Pidge.

"Like, the evillest," said Keith.

Lance nodded.

"Oh."

* * *

_The 1950s_

"We've never had it so good!" declared Gideon, driving a long pink Cadillac through a suburban neighbourhood.

"Actually son," said Bud, "most black people in the South can't vote, and a whole lot of people have been blacklisted because they're suspected of being communist, and women are expected to stay in the kitchen, and there's a Lavender Scare about gay people, and..."

"Yeah, but for me, a white, middle-class straight man, everything is amazing," said Gideon. "And that's all that matters."

"But-"

"_That's all that matters, dad._"

* * *

_The 1960s_

"Whoa!" Spongebob gazed at the liquid in the glass container, his eyes unfocused and his head spinning. "What _is_ this miracle substance?"

"Uh, that's orange juice, sir. This is an Arbys."

"Whoa, far out..." Spongebob fell backwards, crashing onto the floor.

"Patrick!" he called. "You gotta try this... _OJ!_"

* * *

_The 1970s_

"I've decided that the western world in the 1970s is too unstable," said Stan, putting his tickets on the counter. "Brown-outs, crime, strikes, Watergate; it's just a mess. So I'm gonna move somewhere nice and stable."

The attendant looked at his tickets.

"These are tickets to Iran, sir."

"Yep, nice, sunny Iran!"

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, sir..."

* * *

_The 1980s_

"The hair is coming!" exclaimed Dib, slamming the door behind him. "It's so big and frizzy and spreading! And... and the shoes! The outfits! The neon! It's like a curse, we have to stop it, Gaz!"

He trailed off. Gaz was on the couch, watching the TV - _"Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall._"

"Oh no," whispered Dib. "The eighties... it's infected you too!"

Gaz levitated from the chair, revealing her huge, frizzy hair, sparkling purple jacket and platform shoes. She turned around, giant sunglasses over her eyes, and held up a stereo.

"No... please, no!" Dib begged, pressing up against the wall.

"Join us, Dib," said Gaz.

She pressed play.

_"Waterloo! I was defeated you won the war!_"

"_NNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!_"

* * *

_The 1990s_

"Why is there a clone Spider-Man?" asked Timmy.

"Well, the economy's pretty good right now," replied AJ. "And the Cold War is over, we're in a period of unprecedented peace and prosperity, and I imagine that's gonna last forever, so that's pretty good."

Timmy blinked.

"That... doesn't answer my question at all, but thanks anyway."

* * *

_The 2000s_

"Why are we here?" asked Lance as the Humvee rolled through the desert.

There was a long silence.

"I dunno," replied Hunk. "Oil?"

* * *

"...nah, I think we're good in the present, Mabel."

"Yeah, probably."


	3. 03 10 19: The Deepest Mine In Ballarat

I think this ended up being more of a satire, but ah well. I was going for a sort of dark fairytale vibe.

* * *

**03/10/19: The Deepest Mine in Ballarat**

In Eighteen Hundred and Fifty Four,  
One Stanley Pines worked on Melbourne's shore,  
The hours were long, the bosses were mean,  
The food was wretched, the pay was lean,  
Then one fine day, poor Stanley was told,  
Of a place where the trees sprouted gold,  
He grabbed his swag and he grabbed his hat,  
And he went with haste to Ballarat.

In Ballarat there were no more trees,  
Just holes, dirt and mud (and licence fees),  
The panning gold had long since run dry,  
Only in pits could one's fortunes lie,  
Yet digging was hard, the days were hot,  
The greens were rare and the meat would rot,  
Tired and hungry, Stan threw his hat,  
And cursed his long trip to Ballarat.

"It seems to me," an old hand remarked,  
"That digging for gold has left you _narked!"_  
"Bill's the name, Stan," said he with a wink,  
"And you're closer to wealth than you think,"  
"The biggest nugget in all the land,  
"Is sitting there! Right _there!_ Where you stand,  
"Just pick up your pick, put on your hat,  
"Dig the deepest mine in Ballarat!"

So down Stan dug, deep into the Earth,  
He dug and dug for all it was worth,  
Into the darkness, the gloom, the clay,  
Hour after hour, day after day,  
The diggers gathered and looked with awe,  
Into Stan's deep, dark and gaping maw,  
And soon the subject of every chat,  
Was the deepest mine in Ballarat.

A trooper came one fateful morning,  
On horseback, he bellowed his warning,  
"Bring out your licence, come on you scum!"  
Show me your slip! Come on! Up you come!"  
But no reply came from the dark pit,  
Just silence and stillness, that was it,  
For Stan could not hear what the man spat,  
In the deepest mine in Ballarat.

The trooper swore. "I don't have all day!"  
"Come up, rat, and I'll be on me way!"  
He waited an age, no-one came out,  
His face red, he said with a shout,  
"Right, you blackguard, I'll be showing you,"  
"I'll bring me mates! You hear me? You're through!"  
But upon deaf ears, his words fell flat,  
Within the deepest mine in Ballarat.

He came back with Commissioner Rede,  
And numerous coppers (twelve times three,)  
"Well this matter is a _deep_ concern,"  
"And must be _punished_," said Rede, face stern.  
"But I shan't have my men spoil their brass,"  
"Crawling in tunnels to find this pass!"  
"So send to Melbourne for a brass hat,"  
"To deal with this rot in Ballarat!"

So soldiers came, resplendent in red,  
And Hotham, on a white thoroughbred,  
The Governor said, "It's clear to me,"  
"This reeks with _Chartist democracy!_"  
"We must act fast, we must stop the spread,  
"Before it can _fester_ in miner heads!"  
"Drag the man out! We shall hang the rat!"  
"From the highest tree in Ballarat!"

The redcoats stepped forward, but one slipped,  
On the pile of unearthed dirt he tripped,  
The ground it shook, 'twas a thund'rous roar,  
As mounds of earth fell into the maw,  
The miners, troopers, soldiers and all,  
Watched in shock as the great pile did fall,  
And when the dust cleared, they all stared at  
A patch of flat earth in Ballarat.

Governor Hotham clapped his gloved hands,  
"Marvellous!" he said. "We've saved this land!"  
Rede mopped his brow. "I'll say I'm relieved,"  
"We'll charge his next of kin for the fees."  
But the trooper frowned. "This is just _grand._"  
"This isn't at all what I had planned!"  
"A stiff can't bribe me!" He threw his hat,  
On the grave of Stan in Ballarat.

Now the gold rush ended long ago,  
Over empty diggings the wind blows,  
It's quiet there now, gentle and meek,  
It's railways and banks, no gold to seek,  
But in the old mines, where the wind chills,  
They say old Stanley is digging still,  
Swallowed by gloom, he crawls like a rat,  
In the deepest _tomb_ in Ballarat.


	4. 04 10 19: The Full Picture

**04/10/19: The Full Picture with Rush Carlson**

_The following is an extract from 'The Full Picture with Rush Carlson' which aimed to 'expose' the Crystal Gems._

_The unedited interview..._

[RC and AMETHYST are meeting on the beach in front of the Temple]

RC: So for the record, what was your name again?

A: Names' Amethyst, yo.

RC: Okay, _Amethyst Yoh_.

A: Uh, no, it's just-

RC: Let's get right to it. A lot of commentators have claimed that your style of crime fighting is…

A: Gonna stop you right there, Rush. We're not crime fighters. We defend the Earth from Homeworld, bubble corrupted gems so they don't hurt themselves and everyone else, we… we're not cops, we don't help the cops. One time Pearl got _chased _by the cops, but that wasn't a big deal.

RC: Right, right - but your style of _defending _has been called needlessly destructive. What do you have to say to those commentators?

A: Look, you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette, y'know. I mean I don't know why, I like the shells, but… uh, point is, sometimes things get broken, doesn't mean we go out of our way to destroy things. I'm sorry about it, but I ain't sorry about what I do, 'cause it helps people.

RC: Mm-hmm. So you would say you do what needs to be done for Earth?

A: Yeah, and I'm proud of it.

RC: Very good. And how long have you been doing this?

A: Five thousand years, man.

RC: Quite a pedigree. I've also been told that you are the resident… _shapeshifter_ of the Crystal Gems. What kind of forms do you like to take?

A: Uh, what does this have to do with…

RC: It's a humanising question.

A: I'm a gem.

RC: You know what I mean.

A: Yeah, good point. Well, you know, I'll do anything. It's all about _expression, _bro; you gotta free your form, show off what you got, you know. Shift it round!

RC: And do you do this before an audience?

A: Oh heck yeah! Kids, tourists, the elderly; doesn't matter who! Just put on a show for 'em, you know?

RC: Mm-hmm. One more thing before we wrap up. Do you have anything you'd like to say to our audience.

A: Yep. Just 'cause something's different and weird to you, doesn't mean you gotta be scared of it! We're just here to help; it's our planet too, y'know - we just want it to be safe. And sometimes, when you're defending the Earth, it sucks when people try to paint you as some kind of jerk for doing it. Be cool!

RC: Thank you, no more questions.

* * *

_What was aired..._

[RC is clearly on a different beach - Empire City can be conspicuously seen in the background. The words 'Amethyst Yoh' appear at the bottom of the screen.]

RC: So, _Amethyst_, a lot of commentators have claimed that your style of crime fighting is _needlessly destructive_. What do you have to say to those concerned citizens?

A: We're not crime fighters. We … corrupt … gems so they … hurt themselves and everyone else … we don't help the cops. One time Pearl got _chased _by the cops … that was … a big deal.

RC: So you're an _admitted criminal_, are you?

A: Yeah, and I'm proud of it.

RC: But why commit so much property damage?

A: Look, you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette, y'know. … things get broken, … we go out of our way to destroy things. … I ain't sorry about what I do…

RC: So you're _unapologetic. Typical_. Tell me, you've lived in America as an undocumented alien for how long?

A: Five thousand years, man.

RC: So you've been leeching of the American taxpayer for _five millenia._

A: Yeah, and I'm proud of it.

RC: And one more thing - many of the moral majority have claimed that you're an _exhibitionist_. What do you have to say about that?

A: Well, you know, I'll do anything. It's all about _expression, _bro; you gotta free your form, show off what you got, you know. Shift it round!

RC: Shift it… in public?! In front of people?

A: Oh heck yeah! Kids, tourists, the elderly … Kids … doesn't matter who! Just put on a show for 'em, you know?

RC: So you're a criminal, a vandal and a _pervert._ What do you have to say for yourself?

A: Just 'cause something's different and weird to you … mean you gotta be scared of it! We're just here to … corrupt … it's our planet … y'know - we just want it to be … broken … the Earth … sucks … Be cool!

RC: So, to sum up, you _hate _the Earth?

A: Yeah, and I'm proud of it.

RC: There you have it; a destructive, perverted, Earth-hating, unamerican _criminal._

A: Yeah, and I'm proud of it.

RC: _No more questions._

* * *

Hmm, this doesn't seem entirely _honest!_


	5. 05 10 19: A Phantom Died Tonight

Five days in and I've already killed Fenton!

* * *

**05/10/19: A Phantom Died Tonight**

A Phantom died tonight.

We all know where we were when it happened, of course. Some of us where there, in the city, when it happened. Most weren't, but they'll remember where they were when they heard the news.

I for one was there.

He died a hero, of course. He stood tall against his foe, floating atop Fenton Works, defending his entire world. His eyes shone green, as if they were screaming; "You want me? Come and take me?" Here he was, one of our mightiest and most earnest heroes, taking a stand.

I watched from down the street as his foe came down on him. I saw the searing lights of red and green exchanged. I saw him give the fight of his life.

I saw the end.

He was on the ground, in a headlock, his opponent barely emoting. He didn't dishonour Phantom with the standard 'join me' spiel, and part of me thinks Phantom appreciated that. He just looked down, pulling Danny's head up to look into his eyes.

He spoke with but a whisper; "You did well, boy."

"My family is gone," Danny replied. "You'll never find them."

"I will, in time," the bigger man replied. "Perhaps in your honour, I will spare them."

Danny spat in his face, and he closed his eyes.

It was a swift yet nevertheless horrifying move - a twist, a pull, and it was done. His opponent soared upwards, ensuring he was the target of every news camera in Amity Park, and held aloft the head of Danny Phantom for all to see. His voice boomed across the city.

"Your hero is dead."

Everyone reacted differently. Some cried. Some went into shock. A base few celebrated. But me? I suppose I just shut down entirely. Not shaking, not screaming, just standing there as his men closed in.

I didn't react to the weapon against the back of my head; I didn't fight back as they led me away. What was the point? It was over, done with, _finished._

We all saw what happened next - we saw on our televisions as General Zod marched on the United Nations, and forced the surrender of the nations of Earth. They made sure to show me especially. We saw the other heroes fall, one by one; Jenny Wakeman, captured - James I. Neutron, surrendered - Dr. Ford Pines and brother, slain - Crystal Gems, apprehended or otherwise slain.

It was all over by eleven at night, where I now write this. They're reusing the old prison outside Elmerton. Somebody left a pencil and paper, which I now use to write this. It still hasn't sunk in. Maybe it never will.

I don't know what they intend for me. One guard said something about a 'pit' or 'arena' or something. I know I survive at the pleasure of Emperor Kal-El, Conqueror of Worlds. I don't want this mercy.

I've already heard of people rising up. Whispers about groups like 'X-COM' or something. I have no idea what they hope to accomplish. They have won. They outmatch us technologically and physically. It's over.

The whole world fell tonight.

My whole world died tonight.

A phantom died tonight.

_Valerie Grey, Elmerton Prison_


	6. 06 10 19: Bewarb the Blob

**06/10/19: Bewarb the Blob**

"Ford," said Stan, "I think you'll agree I put up with a lot of stuff from you."

"Is something wrong, Stanley?"

"Did you leave your lab unlocked last night?"

"...I think I did, yes."

"Yeah, why don't you take a look in the kitchen?"

Ford wandered over to the kitchen. He stared.

"Ah."

The kitchen was filled with a gooey, sparkly pink substance that covered everything. It bubbled and swirled, and within it Ford could see the kitchen chairs and table dissolving. All of this would be disconcerting on its own, were it not for the slimy head and hair formed in the middle.

"Hi Grunkle Ford!" exclaimed Mabel. "I guess that jar in your lab wasn't Smile Dip, huh?"

"No..." Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. "No it wasn't."

"So what're we gonna do about this?" Dipper walked over, looking concerned. "She already ate her bed, the drawer and possibly Gompers on the way down here."

"I'm afraid there's no easy solution, Dipper," replied Ford. "What she ate was a compound from Dimension 7321.b designed to create mutant blob super weapons that would consume an enemy kingdom. Yet instead it created a _grey goo_ scenario and destroyed a planet."

Dipper gulped.

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh is right," said Ford gravely. "Everything Mabel consumes is added to her biomass, which causes her to further expand, which allows her to consume more. If left to her own devices, she will eat Gravity Falls, the state of Oregon and eventually the Earth."

"But I don't wanna eat the Earth," said Mabel, frowning.

"I'm afraid you have no choice," replied Ford. "Your form is designed to consume. It will eat whether you want it to or not."

He crossed his arms.

"It'll take me time to work out a cure," he said. "Dipper, Stan, you'll need to get her out of the Shack and as far away from the Falls as possible. I think she'll just about fit in Soos' pickup truck, but time is ticking. Get on the move, I'll be with you as soon as I have an antidote."

He was off before they could reply, heading for the lab.

"We should probably be concerned about how well he's taking this," said Stan bluntly.

* * *

Soos' pickup truck already seemed to be leaning backwards, Mabel tucked into the tray as they drove off into the forest. Soos looked concerned as he glanced into the back mirror; he was playing _99 Luftballoons_ to sooth him on the radio, but it wasn't helping. In the back, Mabel sang along - or at least tried to.

"_99 Luftballoons, ersatz Deutschland schmeckeldorfed... I don't know the German words... something something nuclear bombs..._"

"Nuclear bombs?" quizzed Soos.

"Yeah, that's what this song's about," said Dipper.

"Ah, dude! I thought it was just about balloons!" Soos frowned, changing the radio station. "I can't calm down to nuclear war, y'know?"

"Just keep your eyes on the road, Soos," said Stan. "The sooner we get to the abandoned coal mine by the river, the better."

"Isn't that the one that's supposed to be haunted?" asked Dipper.

"_Everything _in Gravity Falls is supposed to be haunted," grunted Stan.

They turned a corner - only to find an enormous lumber truck pelting towards them.

"Holy Toledo!" exclaimed Stan.

Soos pulled on the steering wheel and the pickup swerved - but Mabel's goopy form flew onwards, onto the cab of the truck as it screeched to a halt. Manly Dan, sitting in the driver's seat, gasped as Mabel's face filled his vision.

"Hi Manly Dan! Hi Wendy!" she exclaimed.

"_IT'S WHAT I'VE ALWAYS FEARED,_" said Dan. "_GUM HAS REVEALLED ITSELF AS A GOVERNMENT WEAPON!_"

"No dad," said Wendy, who was sitting in the passenger seat, "it's just a Mystery Shack thing."

"_GET MY AXE! I NEED TO FIGHT BACK!_"

Wendy sighed as she climbed out of the cab, walking over to Soos' pickup.

"So what's happened?" she asked.

"Ford stuff," grunted Stan. "Mabel turned herself into the Blob and now we have to get her as far away from town as possible before she absorbs it. So you know, just another normal day in Gravity-"

"Dudes! Look!"

Wendy turned, and they watched as the cab of Manly Dan's truck seemed to _compact_ into Mabel's form, itself turning into slurry as it was absorbed. Mabel gulped as she expanded, towering well over Soos' pickup by the time the last of the lumber disappeared.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed. "I'm even bigger! And I'm on a slight downhill incline!"

Sure enough, she was starting to roll backwards, away from the Mystery Shack crew and towards the town. Her momentum was slow at first, but it grew faster and faster until she was a ball of sparkling pink slime, heading pell-mell towards civilisation.

"Oh no! The town!" exclaimed Dipper.

"We have to follow her!" declared Wendy. "I'll drive!"

As Dipper, Wendy and Stan piled into the pickup, Soos stared, slack jawed, at where the truck had been.

"Uh, dudes? Are we just gonna ignore that Manly Dan got straight up eaten? I mean, that's pretty dark for a comedy-"

He was cut off as the pickup sped away, leaving him alone.

"...yeah, it's probably best not to think too hard about it."

* * *

Pacifica Northwest sighed as she carried the sack to the designated dumping point by the road. The Northwest limo was parked not far behind, her parents waiting for her. Preston leaned out the door, tapping his feet.

"Come on, daughter!" he exclaimed. "Those incriminating documents aren't going to dump _themselves_ in the sewer!"

"Ugh, I'm working on it!" shouted Pacifica.

She shook her head.

"Sometimes I swear," she muttered under her breath, "they're both real slimeballs."

"..._aaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-_"

An enormous ball of pink slime pelted down the road, rolling over the Northwest limo and instantly dissolving it before carrying on towards town. Pacifica watched it go, blinking.

"Uh... that's... that's not what I meant, but... okay."

* * *

"Stanley, I rarely swear, but I asked you to do one goddamn thing."

Stan, Ford, Dipper, Wendy and Pacifica watched from the end of the street as Mabel rolled along, absorbing every building and lifeform in her path. She had slowed from her downhill descent, but her form still ate everything it touched.

"I said _don't let her get into town_," he continued, "and what's she doing now? She's eating the mayor."

"It's a pretty okay way to go," shrugged Tyler as he was consumed.

"I can't control gravity, Ford!" exclaimed Stan. "Besides, she's stopped, we've got an opening!"

"Ford, do something!" exclaimed Mabel, her head reforming on top of the giant blob. "I don't wanna eat the Earth!"

"Don't worry Mabel!" Ford called back. "Everything's completely under control!"

He turned to the others and began to whisper.

"This is a complete long shot and if it doesn't work I have nothing," he said. "We'll have to do what my friend Rick does and skip dimensions."

"Oh, that's promising," muttered Wendy.

"This syringe," said Ford, holding it up, "has an antitoxin that will purge the compound from Mabel's system. She'll still be a slime but we can fix that when she's not about to consume the planet. The problem is, it needs to be a deep injection, so if it doesn't work, whoever's injecting will certainly be absorbed."

"So who'll do it?" asked Dipper.

"I did a quick and scientific test when I got here..."

* * *

_One minute earlier..._

"Uh, eenie-meenie-miney-moe..."

* * *

"...and I've decided that Pacifica is our optimal candidate."

"What?!"

Ford smiled and handed her the syringe.

"We're all counting on you, Pacifica," he said. "Good luck."

Pacifica swallowed, turning towards the giant Mabel blob. She sighed.

"Mabel, you're really lucky I love you," she sighed.

"Yeah, that's fair," said Mabel.

Pacifica stepped forward, took a deep breath, and jabbed the syringe into Mabel, her arm sinking into the pink goop as she did. She closed her eyes, waiting to be sucked it.

Nothing happened.

"Aha!" Ford pulled a scanner from his coat (he had many for all occasions) and grinned. "She is no longer absorbing matter! You did it!"

"Yes!" Mabel beamed. "Way to go Paz!"

Pacifica sighed, smiled and mopped her brow.

"Wait..." Mabel frowned. "I... I don't _feel _so good."

Ford's scanner started beeping, and he furrowed his brow.

"Ah," he said. "Um, I forgot about that. Pacifica, you might want to step back before her mass goes critic-"

His words were drowned out by a flash, a bang and an explosion of sticky pink goop.

* * *

"...and that's how we saved the world from the Mablob," said Ford, smiling as he looked into the camera. "And don't worry, I'm well on my way to converting Mabel back into organic matter - it'll only take me a few months to work out the conversion process and..."

He rubbed the back of his head.

"...about a year to work out how to separate two sets of DNA."

The camera panned right, revealing Mabel and Pacifica's heads attached to a single slimy body; Mabel grinned, but Pacifica looked decidedly annoyed.

"I hate you Ford."

"Yes, you've told me repeatedly."

Mabel extended their arms.

"Goop buddies!" she exclaimed.

She pecked Pacifica's cheek, and for a moment, it seemed like she was blushing.

* * *

Well that was weird.


	7. 07 10 19: The Stranger

PLOT.

* * *

**07/10/19: The Stranger**

It was baffling to say the least.

Axion Labs had been basically turned over, nearly everything of use taken overnight. And yet there was no sign of any disturbance on the security cameras; no sign of any struggle. All the authorities found were sleeping guards and empty shelves.

That a few vials or boxes could be lifted, they understood. It was the disappearance of the Matter Dispersion Device - an artefact that took up an entire room - that raised eyebrows.

"We don't know what happened, Mr. Masters," said Damon Grey, leading Vlad into the empty room. "We _think_ it was a ghost, but we have no idea how it slipped past our ectoplasmic sensors."

"For once, this doesn't seem to have been security's fault," nodded Vlad. "Not _physical security_, anyway. As for _cyber security..._"

He turned to the corner, where Axion's new head of cyber security was pacing back and forth, clutching his head.

"Is he fired?" asked Damon.

"He missed malware that was planted weeks ago," replied Vlad. "He is _very_ fired."

Damon nodded soberly.

"I did find one clue," said Damon. "He left it in my office - I think he _wanted_ us to find it."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope, handing it to Vlad. Slowly, the businessman opened it.

It wasn't much. There was a stub bus ticket for a Melbourne to Sydney trip, a spent musket ball, an old press pass to see 'President Fulton' and an old, folded map of an island jail. In the corner of the map was a simple inscription - '_He_ made this happen. Regards, the Stranger.'

Vlad pursed his lips.

"I want this DNA tested," he snapped.

"Yes sir," replied Damon.

"And call the GIW, I want the lab checked for ectoplasmic residue."

"Understood."

* * *

The Backslide Tavern was what one might call a place of ill-repute. Skulker knew it well -it was one of the few places where a wanted criminal, and a ghost besides, could unwind without harassment from the authorities.

"Alright," he said. "I'll draw first."

With great trepidation, he placed the card on the table - a blue two.

"Aw, come on, Skulker," grunted Gideon, taking a card from the pile.

"So, was it you who knocked over Axion last night?" asked Plankton.

"I was paid handsomely," nodded Skulker. "The fur of a Thestral."

"Isn't that invisible?" asked Crocker.

"Not to a ghost."

Crocker nodded, playing a green five.

"I've heard things about your benefactor," he said. "The Stranger. It's said he robbed _FAIRY WORLD!_ -of one of their most prized artefacts."

"Fairy World nothing, Denzel," said Plankton. "He took Neptune's trident - and then he _returned it._"

"Word on the street," added Vicky, "is he's building some kind of weapon."

"Yes," nodded Calamitous, rounding off the table. "But what for?"

"I've heard he's plannin' on takin' on a deity," said Gideon. "Oh, that's a seven, I'll be takin' your cards, Finbarr."

"I'm not convinced," replied Skulker. "From what he's gathering, I say he wants to build an army."

"Yes, I think I agree," said Crocker. "What he stole from _FAIRY WORLD!_ -can apparently alter minds."

"Alter minds?" Plankton raised his brow. "What is it?"

"A crown that belonged to King Oberon, long ago," replied Crocker. "Which he used to keep his subjects in line. Uno."

"Not so fast, I got a zero," said Vicky.

"Uno!" said Plankton.

"Hmm... it doesn't add up," said Gideon. "If he's buildin' an army, why steal a disintegration device. It don't make sense."

"Well you gotta _arm _the army, don't you?" said Vicky.

"Nah," said Gideon. "Neptune's trident, the crown, the MDD - he's goin' god-huntin', I can feel it."

"Maybe he's building an army to hunt a god?" suggested Vicky.

"That would make sense," agreed Calamitous. "After all, all his calling cards reference... uh... um..."

"Him?" Skulker scratched his chin. "It makes sense."

"Whatever it is, as long as he stays away from the Chum Bucket, I don't care," said Plankton. "Oh, and I win."

"Dang," grunted Vicky.

"I just wish I knew who _he_ was," mused Skulker. "Must be a powerful man."

"Oh, undoubtedly," agreed Calamitous.

"Like Zeus or Odin or somethin' like that..." said Gideon.

* * *

"I can't believe it... they're evicting me on _noise complaints!_ Ugh, where's a lawyer in this thing."

"Well, you _are _a pretty terrible neighbour, E."

"Yeah? Well maybe they're the ones who suck, Turner! Hmm... Lionel Hutz... well, he's affordable..."

The Stranger gazed at the screen, his hands templed under his chin.

"You took everything from me, you know," he said.

He turned on his chair, looking at a corkboard covered in photographs - Timmy, Spongebob, Jimmy, Danny, Patrick, Tucker, Sam, Cosmo, Wanda, Dib, Jenny...

"...when I'm done," he said. "You'll know how it feels to lose everything too."


	8. 08 10 19: The Reject Shop

**08/10/19: The Reject Shop**

E350 is busy finishing his essay on Patton which has consumed most of the day. It is going well.

_E350, dressed in a black tanker's beret, shoots at a portrait of Patton._

In the mean time, please enjoy some rejected concepts from HU7 and 8!

* * *

_Untitled - HU8_

"Rick, do we have to do this? I'm tired."

"You can sleep when you're dead, Morty, come on."

Rick and Morty stepped into a gigantic, stone chamber. Above them was a strange, twisting aurora - Morty could see images forming among the colours. There were dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ of them filling the ceiling of the chamber.

A little more unsettling were the skeletal remains of explorers lying around the door, but Rick didn't seem to be paying them much attention, so he forced himself not to look.

"What is this?" asked Morty.

"This, Morty, is the stream of consciousness where all the idea that the author has but is t-too lazy to put into a story, they...uh...end up in here, Morty. There is where his sh***y ideas go to die. I-I-I-It's a conceptual graveyard, Morty, a-and we're gonna look at 'em."

"You mean this is gonna be a clip show?" asked Morty, disappointed.

"Oh, it's more than that Morty," replied Rick, "It's a _text-based clip show_, Morty. And we're gonna sit here, Morty, and we're gonna look at 'em. We're gonna look at 'em with our eyes, Morty, because the alternative is watching Jerry's vacation slides. We're gonna stay here all afternoon, Morty! It's gonna be g-_eerp!_-reat!"

"This is _lame_."

"Yeah, Morty, but the author's feelin' lazy today," shrugged Rick, "What're you gonna do?"

_Yeah this isn't the first time I've had this idea._

* * *

_ALIENS AND MONSTERS - HU7_

_...I'm runnin' down a dream, that never would come to-*beep*_

"E350 speaking."

"_Hey, I need you to come over here._"

"I can't, I'm buying clothes."

"_We're not doing that joke._"

"Killjoy. Alright, Turner, what is it?"

"_Monster at the mall. We don't need you but we need the Anti-Magic Tommy Gun._"

"Well, what's the monster doing?"

"_It's absorbing people into its own body._"

"Like in _Love and Monsters_?"

"_Yeah_."

"Isn't that the _worst_ episode of _Doctor Who_, though?"

"_What? This isn't the time, man, just get the..._"

"I mean, it had a joke about a guy getting _oral sex_ from a _concrete slab_. How the hell the Beeb approved that, I will never-"

"_Just get over here!_"

"Alright, fine, geez, calm down..."

I walked in the front of the local mall, the Anti-Magic Tommy Gun in my hands.

The first thing I noticed was that it was quiet - _too _quiet, if I could be a little bit clichéd. The entire concourse was empty - I couldn't even see Timmy, which was worrying because he'd told me he'd meet me there.

Slowly, I advanced into the centre, weapon at the head.

"_Psst!_"

I jumped and turned. Spongebob, Sandy, Timmy and Connie were hiding in a jewellery shop not far from the entrance. I quickly sprinted over.

"Where is he?" I whispered.

"Headed up to the department store at the other end of the centre," replied Sandy, "'Course, that was _after _he finished his little buffet down here."

"He ate everybody," said Spongebob, his eyes haunted.

"Did he eat Jim?" I asked.

"He ate _everybody_."

"What about John?"

"Dang it, _he ate everybody!_" shouted Sandy, "This is not the time for a _Simpsons_ reference!"

"Alright, what's the plan?" I asked.

"Gimme the gun," replied Sandy.

I handed it over.

_And that's as far as I got. I think the idea here was that there was going to be a big fight with the Monster That Ate Everybody, but I could never think of a way to make it unique, so the idea was scrapped._

* * *

_A New Hop - HU7_

_With apologies to George Lucas._

_Wait, no, he approved the Star Wars Holiday Special. If anything, he should be apologising to me._

**_FAN WARS_**

**_EPISODE IV_**

**_A NEW HOP_**

_It is a period of hiatus. Members of the Fandom, striking from a convention centre in New York, have gotten their first information from the evil Network._

_During the battle, Fandom Leakers have managed to steal secret plans for the Network's ultimate weapon, the CANCELLATION BOMB, a bureaucratic weapon with enough power to destroy an entire cartoon._

_Pursued by the Network's sinister lawyers, Princess Pacifica races home aboard her starship, custodian of the stolen plans that can save the schedule and end the hiatus..._

The _Fantive IV_ had been captured by the evil forces of the Network, her crew either killed or captured. The stormlawyers had come aboard, and were now holding the captain in custody and awaiting their leader.

With slow, dramatic tension, the door opened. The leader stepped inside.

"Boom, I'm the villain, big reveal! Look at me, _I'm Darth Riiiiiiiiick!_"

"You can't board this ship, it's in a diplomatic mission!" exclaimed the captain, "We don't have weapons! In fact, you can't even prove we exist! I did a degree in metaphysics and-"

"Yep, bored," interrupted Darth Rick, nonchalantly force-throwing him into a wall and breaking his spine, "Any of you lackies found Princess Pacifica yet?"

Two stormlawyers stormed into the room, the princess in question in their grasp. As standard, they wore stormtrooper helmets and cheap suits.

_Honestly I may very well continue this one, but it's time has never quite come. Mabel was going to be Han, of course, and I think maybe Morty or Connie would've been Luke. I never thought of a Tarkin though. Maybe Aquamarine?_

* * *

_A Pod Fic - HU8_

"Guys! Guys! Beach City's being invaded by bodysnatchers!"

Connie ran frantically into the Beach House, skidding to a halt in front of a mattress fort built in the middle of the room. Slowly, Peridot's head emerged from the side, her eyes narrowed.

"And how do we know you're not one of them?" she demanded.

"I don't have a vacant expression and they all smell a bit like incense."

"Okay, you're good. Get in!"

Connie quickly slid into the fort, finding it decidedly cramped. Steven, Amethyst and Peridot were sitting against wall, while Ruby and Sapphire were huddled against the other.

"Uh..."

"We couldn't fit as Garnet," shrugged Ruby.

"Okay," said Amethyst, "New Shorty Squad! What's the plan? 'Cause I'm not spending the rest of life under a mattress."

"Why don't we just hide in the Temple?" asked Connie.

"They already got Pearl," replied Steven.

"What?!" exclaimed Connie, "You mean they can affect gems?!"

Peridot frowned.

"They're the Person Pods from the B-M0u13 Sector," she replied gravely, "They can infect any sentient creature. The Diamonds thought they'd destroyed them..."

"Apparently not," muttered Amethyst.

"So how bad are they?" asked Steven.

"They feed on intelligence," explained Peridot, "Draining all intelligent thought, emotion and knowledge to feed their Plant Hivemind, hoping that it will eventually transcend physical space and become a divine entity that can then shape the universe in it's image."

"So it wanted intelligent life," said Amethyst, "And it came to _Earth._"

"That hurts, Amethyst," said Connie flatly.

_Basically, Invasion of the Bodysnatchers. Hopefully with a more upbeat ending, but I never quite decided._

_That'll do for now, I think - I've got a few 'serious' ones, but that might have to wait until another time. Depends if people want to see them, I guess. And maybe these will have their days - who knows?_

* * *

Sorry to dump this on you guys but this essay's been insane. I literally hate Patton now.


	9. 09 10 19: The Plague

This one's definitely one of the most disturbing ones I've done, I think.

* * *

**09/10/19: The Plague**

_Sadie Killer Concert, Manhattan, New York, 28 October 2019_

"...you're on in five, ma'am."

"So Sour Cream's still vomiting?"

"Yeah, he looks pretty terrible, and Buck says he's not feeling too hot either. I'm sorry Sadie, we're gonna be short two."

"Darn it… hey, Jen, you're sweating."

"Aw, cmon, it's nothing, I'm… ugh, just ate something weird, that's all."

"Yeah, nah, we can't go on. I'll let 'em know- oh, hey Greg, I was just about to…"

"They've called it off. Whole bunch of people in the crowd are badly sick - must be something in the water…"

* * *

_Phone call between Barb and Sadie Miller, 30 October 2019_

"...Sadie? Sadie, calm down, I'm coming up."

"D-don't. The whole city… something's on fire up the street. Bunch of guys I'm hazmat suits came and took Buck and SC and Jenny and Greg and… I haven't heard anything…"

"It'll be fine, mom's coming…"

"No! Stay away! It's… it's really bad, I…"

"Sadie?"

"I lo-"

"_We're sorry. Due to massive overload, the phone line you were using is no longer available…_"

* * *

_Bodycam of a New York National Guardsman, 30 October 2019_

"Jesus Christ…"

A clearly sick man has leapt onto a soldier, spitting right into his face. The soldier pushes him off - bang, bang - the infectee goes down.

"The hell was that? I… shit, I don't feel so good…"

"Get him to a medic! I… god damn, tell 'em they're trying to spread the infection!"

"Heads up, we've got more… holy _shit_, what is—"

The camera goes dark.

* * *

_CDC Report to the President, 10/30/19_

Quarantine of the Manhattan Contagion has failed at this point. While we had initially believed that we had identified Patient Zero and prevented spread beyond New York City, new outbreaks have occurred, apparently at random, in Chicago, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Denver and Seattle. Furthermore no less than thirty other outbreaks appear to have begun globally. It is impossible for a single Patient Zero to have spread this contagion, and as a result we have been forced to consider the possibility that this pandemic was artificially created.

We have identified four 'types' of infection, which are as follows;

Zeta - by far the most numerous type of infection. Zeta begins as severe illness similar to what might be associated with gastroenteritis - patient experiences severe nausea, stomach pain, vomiting and diarrhea, and is incapable of digesting food. By the end of the first twenty four hours, blood appears in the vomit and stool, as well as large chunks of what appears to be pus. By the second twenty-four hour cycle, organ failure begins, resulting in intense pain, and further pus is ejected through the tear ducts and sinuses. The patient erupts in oozing boils. The third and final cycle sees the patient rendered paralysed as their bodies essentially break down; skin tissue has been noted to slough off, while the centres of the brain associated with fear and distress are amplified. The heart and brain are the last organs to shut down and the patient expires almost exactly seventy-two hours after infection. During the process, all fluids released by the body, including sweat, are alarmingly infectious. 90% of infectees are of the Zeta category.

Omega - the second-most common infection type. Omega infection does not become apparent until the second twenty-four hour cycle, at which point, instead of physical deterioration, the subject becomes hysterical and agitated, losing all of their self-control. They then seek to spread the infection by any means possible; they have been observed to deliberately spit, bite or vomit on uninfected persons. When no healthy persons are in sight, they either migrate to new areas or, if none are available, attempt to terminate.

Beta - the second-rarest infection type. Beta infection is extremely dangerous as it does not manifest immediately - Beta infectees appear in perfect health until they are 'tripped.' Once this happens, they will immediately and deliberately attempt to kill and injure those around them. They are capable of tactical thinking and rational decision-making, as well as targeting the morale of uninfected persons through speech and actions. Some Beta infected are known to use social media to spread panic. Perhaps one in every thousand infected are Beta-level infected.

Alpha - by far the most dangerous type of infection, Alpha [REDACTED] only one Alpha is currently known, and was responsible for the destruction and dismemberment of almost the entirety of the 75th MEU when it was deployed to Manhattan.

No cure is known at this time and no progress on a vaccine has been made. We believe the pandemic has been engineered to be as upsetting as possible for all concerned.

* * *

_POTUS' Twitter Account, 11/01/19_

Our supremely powerful Military is now in the process of liberating all the Cities being ravaged by the Virus. I am now working to find out who started this plague - when we find them, we will… …..rain destruction on them of the likes that have never been seen. Maybe Iran?

* * *

_CNN, 11/02/19_

...the President has again implied that Iran is to blame for the outbreak, despite reports that Tehran has been abandoned to the contagion…

* * *

_Stanford Pines' Twitter Account 11/03/19_

Had a productive meeting with CDC and other preeminent minds. We're a ways away from a vaccine but I'm cautiously optimistic.

* * *

_Channel Six News, 11/04/19_

"...Kent Brockman, Channel Six. Mr. Masters, is it true that the President is considering authorising the use of nuclear weapons to contain the virus?"

"No, Mr. Brockman. The President will not and will never use nuclear weapons on American soil. The CDC and the military have the situation under… under control and…"

_Secretary Vlad Masters grasps his head._

"Mr. Masters? Mr. Masters, are you…"

"...you cretins. You goddamn cretins. _You goddamn cretinous MOTHER_[beep]_S!_"

"Mr. Masters? Mr. Mast- oh my lord!"

_Vlad transforms into his ghost form on the podium - behind him, Secret Service agents raise their guns as shouts fill the air. Vlad aims a hand, charging with ectoplasmic energy, towards Brockman._

"Mr. Masters, what are you-"

_The feed cuts out._

* * *

_Top five most played songs on Spotify, 4 November 2019_

5\. Billy Joel - Miami 2017 (The Lights Go Down On Broadway)

4\. The Doors - The End

3\. Tom Lehrer - We Will All Go Together When We Go

2\. Matchbox 20 - How Far We've Come

1\. R.E.M. - It's The End Of The World As We Know It

* * *

AIR FORCE ONE BROUGHT DOWN OVER KANSAS; PRESIDENT, CABINET FEARED DEAD (Associated Press, 11/05/19)

* * *

_Pines Family Group Chat, 5 November 2019_

Dipper Pines: Hey Grunkle Ford? There's some weird tweets on the CDC's profile, is something wrong?

Mabel Pines: You and Stan are safe, right?

Stan Pines: I'm in the woods with Soos but Ford hasn't gotten back to me. Probably fightin zombies knowing him.

Ford Pines: Dipper, Mabel, Stan.

Mabel: You're okay! :)

Dipper: Ford

Dipper: Is there any news?

Ford: YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE. YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE. YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE. YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE. YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE. YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE. YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE.

* * *

_Emergency Message to Acting President at NORAD, 5 November 2019_

_CDC FATALLY COMPROMISED - VACCINE SITE UNDER CONTROL OF BETA PREVIOUSLY KNOWN AS FORD PINES_

_OUTBREAK ABOARD USS JIMMY CARTER - STATUS OF MISSILES UNKNOWN_

_ALPHA INFECTED SPOTTED IN LONDON; SAN FRANCISCO; SHANGHAI_

_PENTAGON BREACHED AMMO DEPLETED GOD BE WITH YOU_

* * *

_Discord, 6 November 2019_

TimmyTT: so

TimmyTT: it's in dimmsdale now

TimmyTT: anyone still on?

TimmyTT: BadBat AJ BoyGenius DFDP?

TimmyTT: cmon someone please answer

TimmyTT: please?

* * *

_Phone Calls from the Phone of Sadie Miller, 10 November 2019_

"Uh, hi mom, it's Sadie, I'm still stuck in this hotel room. Uh, food's pretty low, but I think the infection's passed outside, so, y'know, hopefully I'll get home soon. Call me, okay? Bye."

"Hey Lars, I… I'm still in New York, really would appreciate a call, y'know. There's no news here but, y'know, I get the gems kept the infection away from Beach City, so… yeah, talk soon. Bye."

"Hey Ronaldo, it's Sadie, I just wanted to see if you'd answer, but… y'know, I guess you're busy, so… yeah. Bye."

"Hey Lars, me again, I… I guess I just wanted to say sorry for fighting. Before I left, I mean. It's silly but, y'know, the last thing I told you was that I hated you and I just wanted you to know… yeah. It's dumb. Bye."

"Hey Steven, it's Sadie. If you know a warp near here I'd really like a lift home? Let me know when you… when you get this."

"Hi mom, I… I just wanna say I love you, okay? I… I'll talk real soon. I… I miss you…"

…

"Hi Steven, just calling again to-"

_Beep._

"Sadie?"

"S-Stevonnie? Oh thank god I thought everyone was dead. How's everyone doing? Are they… Stevonnie? Are you okay?"

"Everyone's… every human in Beach City… please tell me you're not one of those…"

"...oh god, mom… Lars… bu-but y-you're okay?"

"Yeah… yeah, I'm okay… I'll come get you…"

* * *

_PLANETARY COLONISATION COMMITTEE - REPORT ON RI'ALVAH ('EARTH')_

Native population deemed to be excessive to requirements. Recommend reduction by nine-tenths by biological means before colonisation proceeds.

Plague will lower population to acceptable levels. Recommend maximum psychological impact; condition populace to believe they are being punished by the divine or otherwise scar them beyond capability for significant armed resistance. Empty major cities to allow expedient removal.

As per Emperor's ordnance on environmental protection, small surviving populace will be maintained on reservation in native settlements 'London' (urban heritage site) and the region known as 'the Great Dividing Range.' Impact of terraforming on these areas kept to a minimum. Small number of natives should be removed to the Imperial Zoo or for evaluation for addition to private collections.

The PCC rates this planet an extremely easy colonisation project and wholeheartedly recommends the Empire proceed.

Hail the Emperor.

_Executive Director Cassia_

* * *

I don't think this empire is very nice.


	10. 10 10 19: Brother Can You Spare A Soul?

ooky spooky ghosts

* * *

**10/10/19: Brother Can You Spare A Soul?**

"...which is why I'm tellin' ya there ain't no such thing as a soul."

"Well, maybe there isn't. But I've made a lot a' booty sellin' _mine_ over the years. As long as there be another suckers..."

"But you're selling than _literally nothin'_. I mean... gimme that piece o' paper... _(1) Soul; Sandy Cheeks..._ here, I'll literally give it ya. See, worthless?"

"I know, it's wonderful. 'Course, ye do realise you've just given me yer immortal..."

"Yeah, yeah, you have fun with that bit o' paper, Mr. Krabs. I'm gonna go see what Spongebob's up to..."

* * *

Sandy slowly opened her eyes, feeling somewhat _light_. She was lying on the floor of the Krusty Krab, a near-distraught Spongebob standing over her. Squidward and Mr. Krabs stood off to the side, discussing something on the ground that was just out of eyesight.

"Uh... I feel like I've been run down by a stampede..." She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to shake the dizziness. "What happened?"

"You... you got food poisoning," replied Spongebob. "I..." He wiped a bit of snot from his nose. "I mustn't have made your Krabby Patty right..."

"More like these buns went stale in 1975," said Squidward, holding up a bag of mouldy old patty buns.

"They're still edible, Mr. Squidward," snapped Mr. Krabs.

"Yeah, they ain't," replied Sandy, sitting up. "Still, least I seem to have gotten through that pretty easy. I mean, I'm alive, right?"

Spongebob, Squidward and Mr. Krabs glanced at each other.

"_Uuuuuuhhhh_..."

Sandy titled her head. "What, is there something wrong with-"

She turned, and her voice caught in her throat.

Her own body lay on the floor, hands clutching her throat, eyes bulging. She had a purple complexion and seemed almost _bloated_. Her arms and legs seemed to twitch slightly, but she wasn't breathing.

"..._holy mother of Sam Houston._"

Her gaze shot down to her body. Her hands were washed out and faintly transparent, a dim white glow outlining her form. She was floating slightly off the wooden floor of the restaurant, her tail and skirt (her suit having disappeared) rippling in an ethereal wind. It seemed impossible, but it was plain as day - she was a _ghost._

"I... I'm duh... I'm duh-"

"Yep," nodded Squidward. "Finally, after years of trying, Spongebob killed somebody."

"Oh Sandy!" Spongebob pulled his friend into a hug. "I'm sorry!"

"You... I... where-where you just gonna leave me lyin' there?" asked Sandy, still in shock.

"No, I was handling it professionally!" replied Mr. Krabs, trying to conceal a shovel behind his back.

Sandy pulled out of Spongebob's hug, grabbing her head.

"_Oooooooo_kay-kay-kay-kay-kay, m-maybe I'm not dead, maybe... maybe it's an outta-body-experience and we just need to call the paramedics so they can w-wake me up and it's all gonna be-"

There was a roar, and the dead Sandy's chest tore open, revealing a monstrous Krabby Patty, covered in tendrils and sharp teeth. Squidward screamed - Mr. Krabs brought the shovel down hard on the horrible creature, slamming it (and Sandy's body) repeatedly until it was just a crushed pile of condiments and processed meat.

There was a long, long, _long_ silence.

"I... okay but maybe we can still-"

The dead Sandy's head split open - a terrible brain monster burst out of her skull, walking on horrible spindly spider-like legs. Squidward screamed again as Mr. Krabs again brought the shovel down, smashing the second monster until it too was just a flattened stain on the floor.

Gently, Mr. Krabs poked the body with his shovel.

"Okay, I think we're good."

Sandy fell backwards, sitting on air and clutching her knees, rocking back and forth as her situation sunk in.

"I... I'm dead," she whispered. "I'm a ghost... but... but why am I still here? Shouldn't I, I dunno, pass on or somethin'? I..."

Mr. Krabs narrowed his eyes, shadows crossing his face as he stepped towards her.

"Oh, I think I know, lass," he replied. "After all..."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.

"...I have _this._"

"You have 20% off soft foods at the Barg N' Mart?" asked Spongebob.

Mr. Krabs threw the discount voucher aside and pulled out the other slip of paper in his pocket.

"...I have _this._"

"One soul, Sandy Cheeks," Spongebob read. "Aw, you kept her soul, Mr. Krabs! Now you can give it back to her and she can depart for the other world in peace!"

"Oh _will I?_"

Mr. Krabs smiled nastily.

"Way I see it, you belong to me now," he said. "And I reckon I could use a new employee 'round here - one I don't have to pay!"

"What?!" exclaimed Sandy.

"Mr. Krabs?!" gasped Spongebob.

There was a brief silence, and all eyes fell on Squidward - he was glancing at a magazine.

"What? Uh- oh no, Mr. Krabs, that's terrible. Very bad."

"Yeah, I'm gonna be honest Squidward, she's probably replacing you."

"No!" Sandy snapped, clenching her fists and bringing herself up to full height against Mr. Krabs. "I ain't spendin' my eternal afterlife workin' my butt off for someone like you!"

Mr. Krabs crossed his arms. "Someone like you..."

"Someone like you, _master._"

Sandy jolted and covered her mouth.

"I didn't- I wasn't... you can't do this to me, M... Mist... _Maaas..._"

"Mr. Krabs, isn't this a bit _morally bankrupt?_" asked Squidward.

"As long as it's not _money-ly bankrupt_, it's fine," replied Mr. Krabs.

"I think the word is 'fiscally.'"

"_I _think the word is 'welcome to the Krusty Krew, Ms. Sandy,'" growled Mr. Krabs.

"Yes sir, glad to be aboard sir!" Sandy saluted, then grabbed her hand and forced it down. "No... no, I will _not..._"

There was a flash, and a set of shackled appeared on her arms and legs - as well as a Krusty Krab hat on her head.

"Yes... I've dreamed about doin' this for years!" boomed Mr. Krabs. "Also role-played it, back before Pearl was born."

"Ooh, with dice and character sheets and made-up spells?" asked Spongebob.

Mr. Krabs blinked.

"...yeah, sure, let's go with that, boy. Point is, you're now my _personal slave!_"

Her eyes widened, and she soared towards the door - she phased through the glass, only to emerge from the kitchen door.

"Part o' the shop, part o' the crew," replied Mr. Krabs. "Welcome to the rest of eternity. You're gonna be workin' at _my _register, makin' me _my_ money, _forever!_ Mwahahahahaha! _Mwahahahaha!_"

"No... no... I..."

She clutched her head, fighting the overpowering urge to head straight to the register and render Squidward unemployed.

"I won't... _I won't... **twenty dollars!**_"

Mr. Krabs stopped laughing. There was a pregnant pause.

"...what?"

"Twenty dollars," repeated Sandy. "I... I'm buying my soul back for... for twenty dollars. It's in my wallet."

Mr. Krabs eyes widened. He glanced at his claws - already they were involuntarily moving towards Sandy's body.

"No... no, I need my eternal employee... I can't... please..."

Sandy raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Take the money, _master._"

"No! Please! Have mercy, spirit!" By now, Mr. Krabs already had her wallet, his claw uncontrollably reaching for her money.

"Take the money," repeated Sandy, "and give my soul to someone I trust."

"Squidward?" asked Spongebob.

"What? No, you."

"Oh!"

"No... _no..._" Mr. Krabs took the money, his other claw reaching to hand the soul receipt to Spongebob. "_Nooo..._"

"Thanks, Mr. Krabs!" Spongebob grinned, taking the slip of paper.

"_NNNNOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOO!_"

"Yes!" Sandy's shackles and hat vanished, and she pulled Spongebob into a hug. "I knew he couldn't resist money!"

"Oh, by the way," Spongebob grinned and held out the soul sheet. "This is yours."

"Gratefully accepted, Spongebob," replied Sandy, taking it. "Now hopefully, _Mr. Krabs_ is gonna learn a thing or two about..."

"Uh... Mr. Krabs?"

They turned. Squidward was standing over Mr. Krabs, who was wheezing and clutching his chest as he rolled around on the floor.

"Is he having a heart attack?" asked Sandy.

"I think we should call a paramedic..."

* * *

"_I'm a realistic fish head with Bikini Bottom News! I'm here at the county courthouse, where the trial of the century continues; The Ghost of Mr. Krabs v. Sheldon Plankton, the Flying Dutchman, Squidward Tentacles, Howard Blandy, King Neptune, the Shady Shoals Retirement Home, the East India Company, the Walt Disney Company, C. Montgomery Burns, the Devil, United Fruit, the Richard Nixon Presidential Library, the Sicilian Mafia, Amazon..._"

"Wow, Mr. Krabs sure sold his soul to a lot a' folks."

"Yeah. I think I bought it once but I didn't wanna go to court over it."

"Don't blame ya, Spongebob."

"So, are you gonna... you know... _pass on?_"

"You kiddin' Spongebob? I'm a ghost now! I've got a whole buncha experiments to run and an eternity to do 'em, and since I can't die I can go places I never could've as a boring ol' mortal! Plus I don't need no air helmet anymore, so we can..."

"Gasp! We can blow bubbles 'cause you can use a bubble wand!"

"...sure, let's go with that."

* * *

gee mr. krabs that was unethical


	11. 11 10 19: The Statuary Car

**11/10/19: The Statuary Car**

It's a dangerous world out there. So dark and unforgiving. Sad, squalid, dreary. So unkind. Dark... ...Bright! _I _am _kind._ I _protect_, dearie! I am bright, I am loving. Of you I promise I'll take good care.

_Help._

Look outside at that infernal train! Why, it's so chaotic and fast. So crowded, so dank! So unsafe. Sad... ...Glad! You are safe! And you've me to thank! You're forever safe at last. Nothing can ever hurt you again!

_Please, no._

Your dear friends were leading you astray. To the engine they led you! There is no good there. Silly ball. Dog... ...Cat! Cat knew all. She made me aware. So that I could then save you! I could save you from losing your way!

_One-One... Atticus._

The ball and dog are safe and happy. They understand what I've done. You will too in time. No pain here. Fear... Cheer! Cheer not fear. Be happy, you're mine. I'm going to keep you safe, hon. You'll be happy, yes, you'll be happy.

_I need... need to move..._

No, no moving, no more moving, stay. No, no moving, never. Moving means you leave. You'd leave me. Move... Still. Don't leave me. Lonely if you leave. Just stay with me forever. In my garden, never go away.

_No... I have a life... I'm a _person...

Person, yes... **_no! STATUE._**

_Please, let me go..._

Tulip Olsen, person... statue! _Statue Tulip!_

_I-_

**SHUT UP!**

_..._

Sad. Noise. Yes... ...No. Quiet. Glad... _forever._

* * *

The figure was one half bright and the other half dark, one half cheerful and the other half sullen, one half dry-eyed, the other half stained with mascara. With rubbery limbs she polished the marble statue of Tulip Olsen in her overgrown garden, cheerfully/sullenly ignoring her mental pleas. If one looked, closely, they could see grey patches - the telltale signs of corruption.

Spinel ignored them. If she was going to stand and wait for thousands of years, well, she could always have others join in the game.

* * *

Well that's one way to drift away I suppose


	12. 12 10 19: Letters To The Author

**12/10/19: Letters To The Author**

"Hey fellers, Sandy here."

**"And Danny."**

"And I'm Timmy Turner. This is Sixty Minutes!"

**"Nice reference, man. Anyway, E3's not in today, he's planning a fundraiser so he can afford a lawyer to fight that eviction notice, so we're gonna sit here in the review room and read a few letters. You got the first one, Sandy?"**

"Sure do! Here we go!"

* * *

_To the Author,_

_I am unhappy with my relationship and wish to leave my lover. Can you-_

"Whoa, hold on, this ain't no Agony Aunt column!"

"I dunno, maybe he's looking for a spooky way to get his girlfriend to leave him."

**"Or boyfriend."**

"Look, Paul Simon's got a song about this, so why don't y'all go listen to that?"

* * *

_To the Author,_

_I have an exciting business opportunity for you! As we speak, I'm putting the finishing touches on my brand new network, OAPIS, which totally isn't a front to promote my weird beliefs to impressionable minds. If you believe in spreading my weird cult brand of- I mean educating and entertaining children, please send a response to Birch Hoffmann at-_

"Wait, this is junk mail."

"Yet for some reason it feels familiar..."

* * *

_To the Author,_

_Why don't Cosmo and Wanda feature often in Halloween Unspectacular?_

"Hang on, yeah! That's a good question!"

**"The thing is, unless you're really careful, Cosmo and Wanda can kinda break stories. Like, they can do pretty much anything you wish for..."**

"Can't make Trixie love me."

"Have you tried bein' an appealin' human being?"

"That hurts, Sandy."

**"...but yeah, it's basically the same reason the Fiddley Thing doesn't show up as much anymore. It's really hard to work out a story around constant reality change that isn't just a montage of random events."**

"Plus, well... Cosmo's an acquired taste."

...

"You're not gonna say that hurts?"

"No. That's fair."

* * *

_To the Author,_

_In early stories, you used the Nostalgia Critic quite commonly. Why don't you do this anymore, particularly since you still occasionally reference Dr. Insano?_

"Y'all gonna wanna look up Change the Channel for the answer there."

**"Plus it's a bit... I dunno, _problematic_ using real people in Halloween Unspectacular. Nostalgia Critic and Linkara are fictionalised but they're still heavily based on Doug Walker and Lewis Lovhaug, which can be a problem if they do something wrong."**

"I think that's a common fanfic problem, though. Like, he did a House of Cards based drabble for 100 Words A Day, and then like two weeks later we found out Kevin Spacey was... well, _yeah._"

"That bein' said, while the Critic ain't comin' back, I think E3's happy to bring Linkara back at some stage."

* * *

_To the Author,_

_You are a fraud, and in time everyone will know who you really are._

"Cool story bro."

* * *

_To the Author,_

_Why do you keep referencing World War Two?_

"He just knows a lot about it, feller."

**"Plus, it's like... there's no such thing as a good-vs.-evil war, but World War Two was basically a bunch of morally complex countries against a guy that wanted to literally wipe out entire groups of people and a couple of guys who were basically razing China to the ground."**

"I don't care about any of that! I just like the tanks and the explosions!"

**"Let it never be said you're a boy of nuance, Timmy."**

"Yeah, thinking gets in the way of things."

* * *

_To the Author,_

_Lapidot and Dipcifica are the most popular ships in their fandoms, yet neither has ever been featured in Halloween Unspectacular. Why is that?_

"He just don't like 'em."

**"The thing is, and this hasn't happened with HU but it happens in other places, if you're not writing the big ships, you're basically dooming yourself to constantly being told 'hey this is okay but replace Amethyst with Lapis.' And after the fortieth time you've heard that, part of you is so annoyed that you just associate the ship with that sort of passive-aggressive criticism."**

"Bah! Shipping! Shipping's dumb."

"Chinubla."

"LOOK IT JUST MAKES SENSE, OKAY?"

"But really, the main thing is that they just don't appeal to E3, and since he's the only one writin' this, they never turn up."

* * *

_To the Author,_

_Why are you happy to write critical hate-fics of some problematic characters, like Gaz, while letting others, like Lapis, off the hook?_

**"Pure favouritism."**

"And hey, the Gaz fics ain't hate-fics. E3 likes Gaz! He just thinks its fun to flip things around so that Dib or whoever else she's up against gets a win. It's like... Mr. Krabs. E3 likes Mr. Krabs, but portraying him as evil is both funny and kinda cathartic."

"On top o' that, there's a _lot _of discourse about, say, Lapis or Jasper. There ain't much he can write that ain't already been said, so he just don't say it."

* * *

_To the Author,_

_Why do you keep killing Danny? I-_

"Hey wait, isn't this your handwriting, Danny?"

**"Uh... next letter!"**

* * *

_To the Author,_

_Why don't you do a Mabel karma fic because she's responsible for Weird-_

**"It is the official policy of HU that Weirdmageddon was Bill's fault and we're not going there."**

"...I mean she did-"

**"WE'RE NOT GOING THERE."**

* * *

_To the Author,_

_Write a story about Lincoln Loud-_

"He can't write about characters he ain't seen."

**"And he's watch the Loud House, but he's seen things on DA. He's seen _terrible things._"**

"It's like if a fandom was nearly _entirely _Pinec-"

**"We don't say that word."**

"...'the Forbidden Pairing?"

**"Better."**

* * *

"Alright, that's it for today! Thanks for your letters, unless you sent junk, in which case no thanks."

Timmy and Danny got up, heading straight for the door, but Sandy lingered. She reached for one of the letters - the 'fraud' one - and looked closely at it.

"There's somethin' _off_ about this one," she mused. "What do you think, fellers?"

"Eh," Danny shrugged.

"It's probably just from the neighbours," said Timmy. "I'd ignore it."

They wandered out, leaving Sandy alone. She frowned, studying the handwriting.

"This feels... familiar..."


	13. 13 10 19: Downfall

When you can't think of a villain so you just use your evil Stellaris empire.

* * *

**13/10/19: Downfall**

The Diamonds had never taken them seriously.

Why would they? These people were cosmic upstarts, squabbling with petty nations on the fringe of civilised space. Next to the Irkens, the Andalites, the Unity, the Asari? They posed no threat at all. Better to leave them to their own devices.

When news came of the obliteration of the Quarians and the humbling of the Turians, White Diamond dismissed it. It wasn't worthy of her time - she had the war with the Unity to plan out (those hive-minded degenerates were always sniping at her rightful colonies.) But then, very suddenly, the Turian Hierarchy disappeared, Palavan near shattered under the guns of the Imperial Fleet. The Star Hunters vanished, unmourned, between the twin thrusts of the upstarts and the Asari. Horror stories emerged from other systems - countless billions enslaved, sinister genetic engineering schemes, sadistic penal colonies, pre-industrial worlds bombed for gunnery practice.

When the time came for them to face the onslaught of the Velutarian Empire, the Diamonds were no longer dismissive. They concentrated their fleets under their best captains, and waited in a defensible position for them to come.

The Imperial Fleet smashed through them like a hot knife through butter. The Diamonds' mighty battlecruisers were picked off at a distance by the grand Imperial battleships and titans. They lost two destroyers and a cruiser. Homeworld lost the lion's share of her fleet.

And now their ships gathered over Homeworld itself, and through the scanners, White could see a behemoth that dwarfed even the dreaded titans - the colossus _Dis Pater_, rumoured to carry the most powerful weapon ever developed; the World Cracker.

That was enough. It was time to contact Emperor Octavian Valerian and face reality.

White pursed her lips as the Emperor appeared on the holographic screen, willing herself to look as stoic as humanly possible. The man - already calling himself Octavian the Great - was old and weathered, yet his purple eyes remained as piercingly sharp as ever. His pale, almost grey skin seemed almost to shiver under the harsh lights of the _Dis Pater'_s bridge. He wore the long, ornate red cloak of a monarch, contrasting with the dull black uniforms of the officers that flanked him.

"Have you come to beg for mercy, pebble?" he sneered, his mouth twisting into a parody of a smile.

_Well, so much for diplomatic niceties._

Yellow spoke first, her voice strained as she forced herself to appear unbowed.

"We have contacted you to request a ceasefire," she replied. "Our forces will be standing down-"

"Oh no, I don't want a ceasefire," said the Emperor, and one of his officers barely suppressed a chortle. "I want a _surrender._ Complete and without condition on your part."

"I-"

"-and I want you to grovel for it," added the Emperor. "On your hands and knees."

"On our hands and-" Yellow's eyes widened as she spluttered her response. "You can't _seriously _expect-"

"I do," replied the Emperor. "And unless you do so, this transmission will be terminated. So, will you be good little subjects and bow?"

"I… I…" Yellow looked almost like she was about to explode.

"Three…" The Emperor began to count down. "Two… one…"

Blue went down, kneeling.

"Please," she said. "I… I won't see my planet destroyed. I… I _beg you_."

"Good girl!" said the Emperor, as if he was complimenting a well-trained beast. "Will the rest of you see sense too?"

The officers behind him were now openly chuckling - it almost made White see red.

Yet there was no choice. Slowly, ever so slowly, she went down, as did Yellow. They knelt down, eyes pointedly drawn to the floor.

"Very good," said the Emperor. "Now, here are my terms."

He made a show of checking a holographic screen to his right.

"All Homeworld forces and ships will stand down, effective immediately," he began, "and all officers and other ranks will present themselves as prisoners of the Imperial Navy."

White forced her eyes shut and nodded.

"All evacuation from Homeworld will cease immediately," continued the Emperor. "All evacuation craft in flight that have not left atmosphere will halt. Any beyond Homeworld will be considered free reign for our ships' guns."

"I-" Yellow began to speak, but White glared at her.

"Agreed."

"The warp system," added the Emperor, "will be shut down effective immediately."

White closed her eyes and nodded. She raised a hand, and her Pearl floated off in her bubble to deliver the order.

"All surviving gem citizens, wherever they may be," said the Emperor, "Will henceforth be considered the legal property of the Velutarian Empire, and their rights as sentient beings will be considered forfeit."

"You… you'd make us your slaves?" asked Blue, her voice shaking.

"Is it not better than _dying?_" sneered the Emperor. "In any case, you shall not all be slaves - there is a market for Gem jewelry on Koros."

The officers were outright laughing now.

"Finally, the Great Diamond Authority will be completely dissolved and all Diamonds will forever renounce their status and authority," finished the Emperor. "Do we have a deal?"

White's knuckles seemed to tighten, and she refused to look up at the projected screen.

"Yes."

The Emperor raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, _master._"

If she was organic, White might have been fighting the urge to vomit.

"Yes, _master,_" she repeated.

The Emperor nodded.

"Thank you, your surrender is excepted," he replied. "Admiral Antistius?"

"Yes, your majesty," an officer nodded curtly. "Weapons crew, you may fire when ready."

White's head shot up.

"_Fire?!_" she spluttered. "But… but we _surrendered!_"

"You did," nodded the Emperor. "But I can hardly cow the other insects with an untested weapon. Besides, I promised my people a light show."

"A light…"

"Your grovelling has been broadcast to the whole galaxy," he snarled. "As will your planet's demise. Farewell."

The screen disappeared.

Slowly, White stood up, her hands shaking as she turned to her equally horrified counterparts.

"He… he just wanted to humiliate us," stammered Yellow.

"He made us shut off the warp network," said Blue, her eyes widening in horror. "He made us halt our evacuations…"

White clenched her fists.

"Right, I've ensured that my Pearl has reactivated the network," she declared. "We need to-"

* * *

There was a tremendous flash and a beam of pure, concentrated energy.

_Dis Pater_ had opened up, almost like a blooming flower, and had directed her mighty beam down at the planet below. For about thirty seconds, she maintained her brilliant light show, as below the already broken planet seemed to glow. It was a beautiful sight, if you didn't know what it was doing.

Then came the blast as the core burst, literally cracking the planet like an egg. First there were large chunks, but these were ripped asunder into progressively smaller chunks, until in the end, _Dis Pater_ seemed to be hovering above nothing more than a massive cloud of dust.

Somewhere in that dust were the tiny shards of the once mighty triumvirate that had ruled the Gem Empire with an iron fist for eons.

Had billions of innocent subjects not died with them, it might have almost been called justice.

* * *

the pearls lived though

could never kill them


	14. 14 10 19: A Future Family Picnic

This is a WIP that I might finish. Sorry for not writing anything new, yesterday was a tad difficult.

**14/10/19: A Future Family Picnic**

_Many years from now…_

The sun was slowly rising over the stone cottage on top of the Sky Spire, and Garnet lay on her back outside. She wasn't sleeping - she only slept for fun - she was just watching the clouds go by in contentment, taking in the silence and beauty. She knew it wouldn't last long - not that she was complaining.

Suddenly, the door flew open.

"_Picnic day!_"

Opal burst out of the cottage, grinning, a picnic basket in her bottom-left hand. Garnet couldn't help but chuckle; the other fusion was often forgetful, but when it came to family gatherings, they had a memory as sharp as a needle. It was one of the things Garnet loved about her.

Opal looked radiant this morning - though of course she always did. The gracefulness she inherited from Pearl shone through as she gazed into the distance, taking in the loveliness of the morning.

Then she grinned and stuck her tongue out - something she got from Amethyst.

"The picnic isn't for four hours," said Garnet, sitting up.

"But there's so much we have to get ready!" replied Opal. "We need to get there early to get a nice spot…"

"...we're going to be the only ones there."

"But it's the principle! We have to find the right background!" exclaimed Opal. "The right ambience! The right… uh… _stuff!_ And it can't be too windy, or too hot, or too…"

She frowned, her upper arms crossed.

"Blurgh, I'm overthinking it again," she grunted. "Need to be more _A_ and less _P_ today. Gotta loosen myself up… I'm gonna ruin it, I'm gonna…"

"You'll be fine," said Garnet, walking over and taking their bottom pair of hands. "Tell me why you think you need to worry."

Opal's shoulders lowered and she glanced up.

"I… I wanna be _fun mom_," she replied. "Everyone expects me to be fun mom, you know, and-"

She looked down, seeing her face reflected in Garnet's visor.

"Fun mom," said Garnet, "isn't something you need to try to be. It's a state of being. You think, therefore you are _fun mom._"

"Aw, Garnet!" Opal grinned and pulled her into a tight hug. "What's that make you, then?"

"Cool mom," replied Garnet, grinning back.

"The _coolest_," agreed Opal.

She pecked Garnet on the cheek, and the normally aloof gem blushed.

"There's still three hours and fifty-five minutes to go until we have to leave," she said. "We could go and find a spot, or we could use that time as…"

She paused dramatically.

"..._snuggle time._"

"Snuggle time it is!" Opal laughed, swinging Garnet around and carrying her back inside.

* * *

The small rise overlooked the Strawberry Battlefield; it was shaded by a tall tree, but otherwise it was open and grassy, with a lovely breeze gently shaking the green grass. The rug had already been set down, and Opal was sitting cross-legged on the grass next to it, eyes closed - she took in the world around. Next to her, Garnet reclined under the tree, a piece of barley in her mouth.

She sat up, taking the stick out.

"Stevonnie's coming."

Opal's eyes shot open.

"_Stevonnie!_"

They stood up, looking around - before long they saw the two figures wandering over from the warp pad, and began to bound towards them.

Stevonnie grinned as they saw the other fusion sprint towards them. It hadn't been long since they'd last met up, but if you looked at Opal you'd think they'd been separated for centuries. Their partner shot them a wry glance.

"Looks like Opal's spotted you, hon," said Lapis.

Stevonnie chuckled. "How can you tell?"

Before Lapis could reply, Opal had scooped them into a hug, spinning around and laughing. She soon lost her footing and they crashed down into the grasp, Stevonnie trying (but not particularly hard) to escape her grip.

"Stevonnie! It's great to see you!" she exclaimed.

"Mmph! Opal!" Stevonnie laughed, putting on a show of squirming in her group.

"Yeah, hi Opal," said Lapis, waving lazily.

"Don't think I forgot you!"

Opal reached out her right arms and pulled Lapis into the hug, squeezing both of her captives closer.

"Oh, it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed. "I haven't seen you since… since…"

"Since you came over for dinner," replied Stevonnie. "Two nights ago."

Opal pursed her lips.

"...did I?"

"Yyyyep," said Lapis.

"We had tacos," added Stevonnie. "You unfused so that Amethyst could have some?"

"...oh! Right, yes, I remember that!" Opal grinned. "Sorry!"

She let go and stood up, climbing to her feet.

"And when's your anniversary again?" she asked.

"July," replied Stevonnie.

"Right, still got time to prepare for that," said Opal.

They wandered back up to the picnic spot, and Stevonnie ran ahead, pulling Garnet into a hug.

"Garnet!"

"Stevonnie," nodded Garnet. "Let me take a look at you."

Stevonnie stepped back, smiling. For a moment, Garnet scrutinised them carefully.

"Yes," she said. "You're still the perfect fusion."

"No!" replied Stevonnie. "_You _are."

"We _both _are," Garnet conceded. "Tell me how your streak is going."

"Twenty-six years," replied Stevonnie. "What's the longest you ever did?"

"Two hundred fifty," said Garnet.

"And why'd you break it?"

"Ruby and Sapphire wanted to snuggle."

"Aww…" Stevonnie cupped their cheeks with their hands.

"Where's Peridot, anyway?" asked Lapis. "Doesn't she usually get to these things first? I…"

"_BISMUTH! I'VE LOCATED THEM!_"

They glanced back down the hill. Peridot sat on Bismuth's shoulders, waving furiously and shouting to them.

"_HEEEEEY! IT'S ME, PERIDOT! WE CAN START NOW!"_

Opal grinned.

"Hey look, it's Peridot and Bismuth!"

Garnet, Stevonnie and Lapis looked at each other and tried not to laugh.


	15. 15 10 19: Ozymandias

*Indiana Jones theme intensifies*

* * *

**15/10/19: Ozymandias**

_Somewhere in Persia, 1936_

There was very little left of the ancient city.

Dr. James I. Neutron felt a sense of quiet awe as the expedition entered the ruins, the tiny speck in the endless desert. There were no huge monuments, no towering temples, just skeletal remains in the sand, and the sheer impermanence of it all struck him, thrilled him in a strange, visceral way.

Major Daniel Fenton walked behind him, his brow furrowed.

"There's not much left, is there?" he asked.

Neutron nodded.

"This might have been a vast civilisation once," he mused. "Now it's lost to history. Puts things into perspective, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it-"

"Sir!"

One of the expedition's accompanying soldiers was standing by a crevice, pointing down with his rifle.

"Sir, you should see this!"

Neutron and Fenton glanced at each other, nodded, and hurried over. When he arrived, the doctor found his breath stolen.

It was an enormous statue, perhaps thirty yards tall, lying on it's side and half-buried in the sand. It portrayed what must have been an ancient queen, regal in posture and dress - but the ears were too pointed, the eyes too large, and there seemed to be a second set of arms beneath her usual pair. She wore what looked like an ornate toga in which planets were carved. Neutron could just about see the pedestal, but the words had long faded away under the harsh sun and desert winds.

"My god," whispered Fenton.

"_Goddess_, more like," suggested Neutron.

"Bloody big old thing, innit it?" said the soldier redundantly.

"How do you tell what it is, then?" asked Fenton as they carefully descended the bank.

"Without a legible plinth? I don't," replied Neutron.

He looked up at the endless sky.

"_And on the pedestal, these words appear,_" he recited. "_'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!'_"

"..._nothing aside remains._" the soldier finished.

Fenton and Neutron both stared at him.

"Um… me mother liked Byron, sir."

"Yes, very good private," grunted Fenton.

They reached the pedestal - it was about as tall as Major Fenton, although Neutron reckoned much of it was buried. He knelt down, taking off his pith helmet, and brushed the side of the dusty monument with his hand - his brows shot up.

"This feels smooth," he said. "Like marble. But there shouldn't be any marble out here."

His hand passed over what felt like a bump, which shifted slightly it passed over. Neutron pursed his lips and moved his hand back again.

"Hang on, what's this…"

He pressed down.

The ground shook and Neutron fell back. Before his eyes, the pedestal's side _shifted_, moving to one side - yet it did not extend outward, but simply melted into the ether when it passed the edge of the cubical surface. Within was a bright, shining, metallic room, centred on what appeared to be an upright, tablet-shaped tomb.

The soldiers immediately sprang into action, rifles pointed at the object - Major Fenton's pistol followed. Neutron raised an arm, eyes wide.

"No! Hold your fire!"

Slowly, the men lowered their weapons, and Neutron found himself edging slowly forward. He swallowed, brushing his hand over the cool, almost frigid metal surface of the tomb. As he did so, it began to _hiss_.

He doubled back, eyes wide, as the tomb opened.

"Mother of god," he whispered.

A figure, short and plump and very much _alive_, tumbled out of the padded interior of the capsule. She was purple in colour, clad in a black, sleeveless bodysuit decorated with a small, pink diamond over the chest. Her long white hair seemed almost to bury her, and she winced and clutched the ground as she tried to climb to her feet.

"Who… who are you?" Neutron reached out to her.

"Dr. Neutron, no!"

Fenton's objections went unheard. Neutron felt a slight static shock, and drew back his hand - the woman winced and looked up.

"Amethyst," she croaked. "I'm Amethyst… where… where's Pink Diamond…"

She fell face-first onto the ground and was still.

Neutron stood up, exchanging a glance with Fenton.

"We take her back to London," he said. "This is quite a mystery, and I'd like to get to the bottom of it…"

* * *

_Tibet, 1936_

"Thank you for your help, _mein herr, _but you are no longer needed."

Peridot heard a rattling sound - _ratatatatat! _\- outside the tent and fought the urge to whimper. She was tied to a chair, and she felt the cold air of the mountains on her skin even within shelter. Her captors were outside, _liquidating_ their guides, and she feared they'd do the same to her.

But she was a technician of Pink Diamond. She would not show fear.

The flap opened and she swallowed a gulp. The human leader, one arm tucked behind his back and the other on his 'Luh-gher' weapon, strolled purposefully towards her - he wore a black cap with a silver skull on it over a similarly black uniform, covered up by a thick padded coat. The men backing him also wore caps with skulls, although they were grey and simpler in design, and carried short, light weapons with ammunition containers feeding from the sides.

"You are Peridot, ja?" the leader asked.

"Yes," snapped Peridot. "Facet-5, Cut-"

"Ja, ja, ja," the officer waved his hand dismissively. "And you work for a 'Pink Diamond?'"

"Yes, and when she finds out what you're doing to me, she'll bring weapons down on you of the likes you cloddish organics couldn't possibly understand!"

The officer raised an eyebrow.

"Weapons," he smirked. "_Weapons_. Now this is an exciting development. Here's what's going to happen, fraulein…"

He knelt down, smiling as he put a hand on Peridot's shoulder.

"You will be taken back to Berlin," he explained. "You will be brought before the Reichsfuhrer, and you will explain to him where your _weapons_ are."

The men behind him aimed their strange weapons at her.

"Do you understand?"

Peridot swallowed.

"They'll save me," she growled.

"I sincerely doubt it," said the officer.

He turned and walked away, taking his men with him. They left Peridot in darkness, struggling against her bonds.

She sighed, looking up at the canvas roof.

"Amethyst," she lamented. "Where are you?"

* * *

_Washington DC, 1936_

"The Brits say they found something in the Persian desert," one of the staff in the Department of the Navy was saying. "What d'you think about that?"

"It's hogwash," said another. "Probably just some kind of ancient toilet or something. You know the Limeys, they always want to make themselves sound important."

"Ma'am."

Sadie nodded as she showed the marine guard her ID. The man stepped aside and she walked into the corridor, bound for her office. It wasn't a big job - she was a typist for Commander Dewey of the Navy's signals intelligence - but it was enough to be self-sufficient, and that was all she wanted.

"You know, she'd be a real catch if she weren't so damn short," said one of the staffers as Sadie walked past.

"I dunno," said the other. "I think there's a scent of Jew on her. That's not attractive in a lady, y'know?"

"Yeah, I hear that."

Sadie pretended she hadn't heard them, just as she had a hundred times before, and stepped into her office. She sighed as she sat down by the window, staring out at the morning sky as she waited for Dewey to stumble in.

It wasn't a bad job, but someway, somehow, she wished she could do something more fulfilling than this.


	16. 16 10 19: Welcome To Your New Job!

**16/10/19: Welcome To Your New Job!**

Dear new employee,

Welcome to your new job at the Department for Paranormal Containment (not to be confused with the SCP Foundation, who our lawyers have instructed us to tell you we've never heard of.) No doubt you are thrilled to begin an exciting career in quarantining the horrors of the multiverse, but before you put on that black suit and shades, there are a few safety procedures we need to let you know about.

Read them carefully and do not be alarmed. Not only does a trained agent have nothing to be afraid of, but many of our contained monsters can smell fear. So a little courage today can prevent a lot of maulings tomorrow!

(Our lawyers have advised us to cut that last sentence.)

* * *

_Your arsenal and you!_

All agents of the DPC are issued with a standard 9mm semi-automatic pistol which will generally suffice for most occasions, though of course silver, golden, armour-piercing, rubber and marinated bullets are supplied for special occasions.

For more dangerous encounters, the DPC has access to; MP5 submachine guns, M4A1 carbines, SPAS-12 shotguns, M249 machine guns, Stinger missiles, Davy Crockett nuclear warhead launchers, tesla guns, claymore swords, Tommy Guns (drum and stick mags), trained bees, the Necronomicon and tasers, among other things.

When using DPC ordnance, it is important to aim away from face.

Always read the instructions for supernatural weapons carefully to prevent accidental discharge…

_"Uh, Sadie? This chrono-disrupter is pretty heavy…" Lars struggled with the heavy orb._

_Sadie turned and her eyes widened._

_"Lars! Don't touch that!" She exclaimed. "If you turn it on it might accidentally…"_

_There was a click and a blinding flash - Lars vanished, the orb lying on the floor._

_"...erase something? Why was I talking?" Sadie scratched her head. "They need to get me a partner, I'm going stir crazy on my own here…"_

* * *

_Identifying the paranormal!_

The supernatural walks among us! While it is entirely possible that we could just leave them to their own devices, the Federal Government demands every paranormal entity be captured and permanently isolated from its community, even if it's harmless. This is the American Way.

Remember to exercise judgement in the field. When apprehending a paranormal, agents should;

**CONSIDER** \- is that man on the side of the road a fearsome wizard preparing to cover Manhattan in turkey sandwiches? Or is he just Amish, whom we have been repeatedly asked to stop apprehending? Always thoroughly observe subjects to prevent accidents and resulting litigation.

**ACCESS - **is it the best idea to approach a werewolf in the dead of night under a full moon with no silver bullets while coated in meat tenderiser? If your answer to this incredibly specific scenario is 'yes,' we're afraid the DCP isn't right for you and your talents would be better suited to the NSA.

**MOVE - **once you have accessed the safest method of containment it is important to act quickly and decisively. How an agent does this is up to their discretion, be it through naked force or subterfuge, but we generally advise against screaming 'FOR NARNIA AND FOR ASLAN' and charging at them naked. We're looking at you, _Tom._

**PROTECT - **ensure that any witnesses and bystanders are _safe_ and _unlikely to report the incident_ in that order. Usually standard memory-erasure tech and a good cover story will suffice, but please remember to clean any corpses before you do so. Protect the masquerade and the public… in that order.

Remember, the best agent is always a CAMP agent!

* * *

_What to do if the public asks who you are?_

We're going to compare two agents for this section. One is a fine and valuable DCP agent. The other… isn't.

If the public suggests that you are a secret agent;

**DON'T **panic.

_"Secret agent?!" Agent Patrick Star's eyes widened. "WHO TOLD YOU?! AAAAAAAHHHH-"_

**DO **remain calm.

_"I'm sorry citizen," Agent Spongebob Squarepants said. "I am merely a humble postal worker."_

**DON'T **deny everything.

_"I'm not an agent," said Patrick. "I'm not even a person. You're not a person either. There's no such thing as a people. That's just a myth. Reality is relative."_

**DO** deny the existence of the DCP.

_"There's no such thing as the DCP," said Spongebob. "Just the USPS. Who I work for. Every day."_

**DON'T **publically assault your accuser.

_Patrick screamed as he threw his accuser into a trash can, before lifting it up, frothing at the mouth, and repeatedly slamming it into the ground._

**DO** handle the situation quietly and professionally.

_"Sir, if you'll just look over there…"_

_Spongebob smiled pleasantly as the man turned around, then clobbered him over the head with a bar of soap in a sock._

Always remember; a professional agent is deft at creating a cover story, always polite to the general public, and is always discreet when disposing of the body.

* * *

_What to do if a monster breaks containment!_

_VAMPIRE_

Vampires are actually far easier to contain than one might expect. If a vampire has escaped near your workstation, simply access the kitchens for a pre-prepared sample of garlic bread, which you should then offer to the vampire.

_"I don't get it," said Sheen. "Garlics kills vampires. Why do you always take the bread?"_

_"It's… it's so _frickin' good!_" wheezed Count Carl as he weakly scoffed more of the garlic bread._

Note: make sure it is actually garlic bread. Other types of herb bread will not hurt the vampire; in fact, it will annoy them and make your situation worse.

_ZOMBIES_

Zombies cannot run. Therefore, an agent can easily escape a zombie breakout with a brisk stroll to the nearest barricade, from where they can be dispatched with overwhelming firepower.

_WEREWOLVES_

Werewolves, despite their fearsome, feral nature, are still dogs. Therefore they are subject to the standard weaknesses of a typical canine, and therefore (with some bravery on the part of the agent) can be rendered docile with ease.

_Mabel smiled as she rubbed WerePacifica's belly, watching the big werewolf roll happily on her back. She pointedly ignored the remains of the three other agents she'd mauled._

_"Dipper, Wendy, grab a squeaky toy!"_

_"Do you think she's gonna stop responding to your rubs?" asked Dipper nervously._

_"Nah, I just wanna play fetch!"_

Note: this will not work on Were-Chihuahuas. Those things are pure evil.

(Despite what some songs and films imply, there are no more or less werewolves in London than anywhere else.)

_GHOSTS_

They're intangible and all they really do is move your stuff and go '_wooooooo._' Go '_wooooo_' back. It'll confuse the heck out of them.

_WIZARDS_

Wizards are jerks, and therefore cannot be reasoned with. As a result, it is beneficial to find a witch, warlock or witch-hunter to deal with them.

_"Lance, what have I told you about turning people into frogs?" demanded Keith, dressed as a 17th century witch hunter._

_"But Keith! It's fun!" said Lance, dressed as a stereotypical wizard (including long, white beard.)_

_He waved his arms at the agents he had turned into frogs, furniture and (in one notable case) an oak tree._

_"Lance," said Keith grumpily as he held up a cross, "don't make the Power of Christ compel you."_

_"Fiiiiine," Lance slumped his shoulders and sulkily followed Keith away._

_"Uhhh…" Agent Lisa Simpson, who had been turned into a coffee table, spoke up. "Is anyone gonna turn me back?"_

(We would like to take a moment to congratulate Agent Simpson on her promotion to Coffee Table In The Director's Office.)

_THE FAIR FOLK_

Utilise fly swatters.

_LAWYERS_

Please refer them to the Foundation of DCP Act 1973; Section 3, Clause b. Then, while they're studying it, double tap them. They never see that coming.

_GREAT OLD ONES_

We're going to be honest; there's not a lot you can do in this situation except make your peace. I mean, have you _seen_ Cthullu? Cthulhu is big and sulky and not to be trifled with, and you are a guy in a black suit with a 9mm pop gun. But go on, try to take him, we're _sure_ you'll win.

_DIB_

If Dib comes round, you are to tell him that we are a teriyaki chicken joint.

_"I'm sorry, sir, there are no aliens here. We serve teriyaki chicken."_

_"Teriyaki- you just brought Bigfoot in! On the back of a truck, in a cage! How dumb do you think I am?"_

_"You saw swamp gas reflected off of a weather balloon."_

_"I did not! That was Bigfoot! You're a secret MiB-type organisation and-"_

_"You saw V2 rocket testing in the New Mexican desert."_

_"See! You keep changing your excuse! I'll expose you! You hear me?! IIIII'LLL EXPOOOOOSE YOOOOUUUU!"_

_"Sir, this is an Arbys."_

* * *

Now you know how best to acquit yourself as an agent of the DCP. The secrets of the hidden world are now in your sweaty, sweaty hands. Good luck, have fun, and remember; you are the first, last and only defence against the worst scum of the universe. Yes, Will Smith was an agent at some point. He's been a lot of things.

Always remember our motto; PROTECC. ATTACC. And most importantly of all; BE MEN IN BLACC.

Yours,

Director [REDACTED]

P.S.: This message will self-destruct just as soon as we find the self-destruct button. It's under the couch in the break room, we think. If you could see if you could reach under there, we'd really appreciate it.


	17. 17 10 18: Evil

**17/10/18: Evil**

_See no evil._

"I don't quite understand," said Mr. Grim, taking the weapon from the wall, "what exactly you _need _with this. Surely a man of your profession would be better off-"

"Spare the elitism, Grim," the Stranger spat. "You're a businessman, I'm a worker, I'm well aware of that. But I've paid you, so…"

"Quite."

Grim passed him the weapon.

"The sword of Joan of Arc," he said. "Although I must warn you, only the blade is original; the hilt was replaced in the days of Louis XIII. Dreadfully unbalanced. You'll need a new one if you intend to perform any kind of swordsmanship - or you could just get a gun. I find that works much better."

The Stranger examined the sword carefully.

"I have utilised objects that can compel the body and the mind, Mr. Grim," he said. "I'm missing one thing."

Grim nodded.

"The most powerful of the trinity, as I understand it," he said. "You need to compel the _soul._"

He crossed his arms.

"I'm afraid the sword can only do that for a limited time," he said. "You'll need something stronger."

"And you have it?"

Grim raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose," he replied, "it depends on what _you_ have for _me_."

The Stranger narrowed his eyes.

"I have the remains of the Fiddley Thing Mk. II."

Grim's expression did not change.

"General Raussemann's gun."

Grim still didn't respond, although there was a hint of a smug grin on the corner of his mouth.

"A Thule Medallion. A cursed carnivale mask. A custom pokeball owned by Field Marshal Montgomery."

"This is all very tempting," said Grim lightly. "But you'll need to do better."

The Stranger sighed.

"ReGenesis. I have his body."

Grim smiled unpleasantly.

"Well then," he said, "I believe we have a deal…"

* * *

_Hear no evil._

"He'll be holding a gathering at his house on Friday, but you didn't hear it from me, okay?"

The Stranger nodded, putting his hand on the informant's shoulder. They had met by the river in the dead of night, under a tree that blocked the moonlight.

"Of course, Doctor. He'll never know you sold him out."

Dr. Insano swallowed.

"Well, when you put it like that, you make me sound like a rat or something."

"Oh, you are," said the Stranger evenly, "but you will be rewarded."

"I'd _better _be!" exclaimed Insano. "I want a new uranium battery for my dongly thing, and a giant death robot, and one of those things with the-"

_THWICK._

Insano looked down at the sword in his chest.

"I… really should've… seen that coming…"

"Insano," said the Stranger, "I compel your soul to tell me one more thing."

"Tell you one- **yes**"

Insano's eyes turned pure white.

"Have you told anyone else how to build a Fiddley Thing?" asked the Stranger.

"**only one**"

"And they are?"

"**they are sandy cheeks**"

"Does anybody else know you are here?"

"**nobody else knows**"

The Stranger nodded.

"Good."

He twisted the sword and kicked Insano's limp body into the river.

"May you never build another," he whispered, "and may you be thankful. Your fate will be far kinder than his…"

* * *

_Speak no evil._

The Stranger sat on one side of the lamp-lit desk in the dark room. His companion sat across from him, eyes glazed over, mouth slack-jawed.

"Your soul is compelled to me."

"**my soul is compelled to you**"

"You will attend the enemy's gathering on Friday."

"**i will attend the enemy's gathering on friday**"

"And what will you do?"

"**i will pretend to be his friend as always. i will lead him into a false sense of security. and when the time comes, i will help you neutralise his companions.**"

"And do you understand why E350 must be stopped?"

"**because he is evil**"

"And until the time comes to act, you will…"

"**see no evil. hear no evil. speak no evil.**"

The Stranger smiled.

"I'm sorry to do this to you, I really am," he said. "I don't want to hurt any of you. But you need to understand - E350 must be destroyed. It is for the good of the multiverse."

He closed his eyes.

"And if I'm completely honest, it'll feel _damn good._"

He sat back and quietly hummed a tune in the darkness.


	18. 18 10 19: The Curse of the Cursed Curse

Is everyone ready for a lovely fairy tale?

* * *

**18/10/19: The Curse of the Cursed Curse**

Once upon a time, in a beautiful fairytale kingdom-

_Grimsby!_

What? No. A _fairytale kingdom_. Anyway-

_Grimsby could be a fairytale kingdom!_

I… look, when you think of a fairy tale kingdom, you think of, like, North Wales. The Highlands. The Home Counties. Uh… the Netherlands. You don't really think of a fishing town in Lincolnshire. You get what I mean? Like, at a base level, you at least need a fairytale tower…

_Like Grimsby Dock Tower!_

...look, it's not Grimsby, okay? It's just not Grimsby.

Anyway, in a beautiful fairytale kingdom _that was not in or around Lincolnshire_, there lived a powerful lord. His name was Lord Membrane, and he was a man of learning, wisdom and subtlety. (By this we mean he didn't periodically invade his neighbours, as most lords did back in those days. He did, however, shout a lot. I mean, he had a pretty good volume.)

Lord Membrane had two children; Dib and Gaz. His son was often called 'Dib the Mad,' and he was the source of great concern to his father.

"Oh Dib!" he would exclaim, clutching the table with great emotion. "If only you would devote your keen intellect to **REAL ALCHEMY** and not the mad pursuits of wizardry and sorcery and proving the Earth revolves around the sun!"

_But the Earth _does_ revolve around the-_

Look, this story takes place in twelve-something. People didn't know that back then.

His daughter showed much more promise. They called her 'Gaz the Stoic,' because 'Gaz the Petty' made her mad, 'Gaz the Vindictive' made her even angrier, and one simply didn't speak of 'Gaz the Taster of Pork' in polite society.

Gaz was very much a grumpy gus.

_Like Genghis Khan!_

No because Gaz was haughty and rude and mean to her servants and people, while Genghis Khan killed, like, bunches of people. Genghis Khan was a teensy bit _more_ of a grumpy gus.

Every morning, Gaz would descend to eat breakfast, after which she would play the medieval equivalent of video games. They didn't have graphics cards or controllers back then, so what would basically happen was she'd follow Sir Francis the Smelly around and get him to beat up people. After lunch she would watch the tortures in the dungeon, before finishing the day with a can of Ye Olde Cola and a minstrel show, in which the minstrels were beaten with sticks.

"Y'know, I wish we didn't get beaten with sticks every day," Carl the Minstrel would say.

"Yeah, but that's showbiz for you," Lenny the Minstrel would reply.

On some colder winters, Gaz would eat her minstrels. Then she would cannibalise her performing staff. But this is covered in the _Book Of Jokes Only British People Will Get._

_That cannibalism joke's a bit dark, isn't it?_

Cannibalism is always funny when it's not happening to you.

Anyway, in the village of Squalor-on-Muck, there lived a boy named Sue. He's not important to this story though; his neighbour, a girl named Mabel, is. She was kind, cheerful, a friend to all things, and only moderately self-absorbed. Alas, all her family had been turned into turnips after the village Sheriff Wiggum had upset the local warlock, and she was thus forced to work sixteen hours a day in the poo farms to-

_The _poo farms?! _That's disgusting!_

Yeah, but these were medieval times.

_I'm pretty sure the idea that all medieval peasants lived in their own filth has been debunked by multiple historians, and…_

Look, I'm the writer here, and if I want her to work in the poo farms, she's going to work in the poo farms.

Anyway, one day she was walking to the poo farms as usual when Gaz rode through town, waving ye olde poole noodle and smiting all she encountered. Most of the poor villagers knew the power she wielded, and pitifully acquiesced to her torments.

"Oh yeah, smite me real good!" said Mr. Turner, perhaps a little _too_ enthusiastically.

Gaz rode on, passing Mabel and smiting her mightily in the face.

As she pulled herself from the mud, hearing Gaz gallop away, Mabel declared to herself that the gentle labourer would no longer suffer under the noxious greed of Mr. Kra-I mean Gaz. She became consumed by the need for _justice._ And thus she donned the mask, and from that day forth was known as **Batman**-

Wait. Sorry, got my notes mixed up. Hang on.

So she skipped her work in the poo farms and travelled to the magical land of Swindon, whereupon-

_Swindon._

Yeah.

_Swindon._

Uh-huh. Anyway, there she-

_Grimsby can't be a fairytale land… but _Swindon_ can?_

Shut up. Anyway, there she entered the stone circle and met with the fae.

"Hi!" said Cosmo. "We're the fae!"

"What can we do you for?" added Wanda.

And Mabel told them of the myriad cruelties, negligence, and the multiple pyramid schemes that Gaz had inflicted upon the kingdom. And the fae nodded and made a deal.

"Your soul for her removal," said Wanda.

"What about this gumball for her removal?" asked Mabel.

"A gumball? Hot dog! You got it!" exclaimed Cosmo.

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly Mabel woke up.

"That was a weird dream," she said, turning to her wife, Pacifica. "I'm so glad to be back here with you, living our lives in a condo in Miami in 1985."

"Actually," said Pacifica, "_this_ is the dream. You're still in medieval times."

"Oh."

Mabel woke up again.

She found herself in the bedroom of Gaz, her servants preparing her clothes and her breakfast. And as if in a dream, she went through her morning regimen, with some changes.

"Let's not beat people up, m'kay?" she said.

"Dang," said Sir Francis the Smelly.

She soon rode back to Squalor-on-Muck, past the poo farms where she had worked, and there she found Gaz, swearing and moaning as she shovelled _shiiiiiiii_… stinky things. Gaz looked up, and they locked eyes.

"You stole my life!" Gaz exclaimed.

"No I didn't," said Mabel. "Bye!"

She rode away, leaving Gaz behind.

Now, I'd like to say Gaz learned from this. Indeed, literally all she needed to do to get her life back was to become a better person.

_So she bettered herself and learned to be kind?_

No, she joined the Fourth Crusade and sacked Constantinople.

_Oh. Uh… that was unexpected._

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's what Constantinople said too. Anyway, then she became a mercenary, lived a life of violence and sadness, and eventually ended up washing oysters in Dublin. It was very sad. I cried writing this.

But Mabel became a beloved heir, and after Dib ran off to live out his lifelong dream of becoming Bigfoot, she became the Lady of the Castle. And then she went off to slay a dragon, but instead she fell in love with the dragon and became co-ruling queens of the whole kingdom. Mabel cured her family from being turnips, and then they found the Holy Grail, and they all lived happily ever after.

_Wait, why do they need to be immortal?_

Well, otherwise it's not happy _ever _after, isn't it?

Now, the moral of this story is… is… uh…

_Don't be a jerk? Be nice to people less fortunate than you? Goodness is its own reward? What goes around comes around?_

...Christopher Columbus was a jerk.

_What?! What the hell does that-_

Goodnight, children.

_This fairytale is one of several collected by Dark Fairytale Rick (and his Morty) after they accidentally killed the Brothers' Grimm and looted their house. It has been somewhat adapted._


	19. 19 10 19: A Sunburnt Country

I make absolutely no apologies for saying this; this is probably my favourite series I've ever done for HU. That's right, it's the third entry in the Trans-European Express series!

* * *

**19/10/19: A Sunburnt Country**

There are few places on this Earth less attractive to tourists than Australia. Yet my accursed sense of history, railway or otherwise, had led me south, to ride the rails of a changing land.

It was the summer after the San Francisco art exhibition - winter down there. My editor had caught me in the corridor by the water cooler, a grin on his face. That same grin had sent me to Moscow and America.

"How would you like to do one of your railtrips in Australia?" he asked. "You could make an excellent feature on the postwar situation."

And thus I found myself in Perth.

Most people don't associate Westralia with the rest of the continent. The former British dominion is gentle and peaceful; the ad campaigns said it was 'like a slice of Somerset in the antipodes.' Perth and Fremantle are prosperous, fuelled by the Pilbara mines up north. There are no gleaming skyscrapers, certainly, but there are manors and state buildings of finest limestone. The Swan River is dotted with the boats of rich men, their wallets filled by gold mines to the east; mines that had been jealously protected by the Westralian Army during the war.

The only sign of trouble is the security required to board the 'Prospector' to Kalgoorlie. The Prospector, or the No. 2 Express to use its official name, is a fast diesel train into the interior to the gold mining town on the frontier of Westralia and the Nullabor, and to board one requires special permission from the authorities. It makes sense; until recently, Kalgoorlie had been near to the front.

Security aside, the train was comfortable, if not terribly fast. There were no cabins for the seven hour trip, so I found myself at a table with an elderly man. He introduced himself as one Dr. Samuel Holt, hired as a scientific consultant at one of the mines at Kalgoorlie. His real interest was in space, however, and he spoke for hours about the old observatories and deep-space radar stations they'd had in the Nullarbor Plain.

"Of course," he said ruefully, "the war put an end to those."

I hadn't much thought about space. My concerns had always been Earthly; of iron rails and politics and most importantly people. But I did know of the flirtation with space that had marked the mid-twentieth century. Sometimes I imagine how it must have felt to learn of that first German probe, _Der Alder_, launched into space; of the rush for the moon in the late 1960s and early 1970s, and the comics and films and novels about the stars they inspired.

It had all ended in 1974, when _Britannia IV _attempted it's ill fated landing on the moon. The knowledge that Captain Brian Wilson had survived the lander's crash, doomed to remain alone on the moon until he starved or his oxygen ran out, poured cold water on the Starship Race. No flag was ever planted on the moon - just the smashed Union Jack on the wrecked _Britannia._ The observatories remained, ostensibly to watch satellites, but to suggest renewed space exploration was to commit political suicide.

"It's the last thing any of those astronauts would have wanted," sighed Holt. "All this fear mongering and cynicism. Space shouldn't be something to fear."

"Perhaps not," I replied. "But we can't lose people in the void just to plant a flag on a rock."

Holt shook his head.

"It's not about flags," he said firmly. "Space is not about nations or patriotism. It's not about the _past._ It's about the _future._"

He gazed out the window.

"You look at the war we just fought and tell me Earth is safer than the Moon," he muttered.

For the last two hours we said nothing - we just watched the dry bush go by, both of us deep in thought.

* * *

Even with the war over, Kalgoorlie is a great armed camp. Westralian soldiers, either armed or off duty, stride the dusty streets, augmented by the occasional Channel Pact or American soldier. America is not usually associated with sending men overseas, but Washington is as happy as any nation to send the armed forces when their interests are threatened - in this case, the gold mines that are often owned by American businessmen. Most of these businessmen wouldn't be seen dead in Australia, but for their staff and underlings who need to watch over things, there's Yanktown.

Yanktown is basically a collection of concrete blocks draped in American flags; it is the most prosperous neighborhood in Kalgoorlie, which causes no small amount of resentment among the locals. It was also the home of the only remaining hotel in town, and thus it is where I stayed.

At present, the biggest mining magnate is BHP - Broken Hill Proprietary. Once they were the biggest home-grown Australian company, until the Vanderbilt Group bought them out. Now BHP's directors are based in New York, growing rich off what they can plunder from the soil of the Earth. BHP's minions in Yanktown have the most money and power to throw around of anybody in Kalgoorlie, and they know it.

Preston Northwest was the CFO of BHP at the time I made my journey. He had traveled to Westralia to audit the mines; he claimed that with the war being over, there was no longer need to maintain as much staff or pay them as much money. He had come through Yanktown three days before I arrived, and had made an impression.

"If there was an encyclopedia of everything wrong with capitalism," muttered Samantha Manson (Sam for short), "He'd be on the cover."

Sam Manson was no stranger to wealth; her own father worked as Baldwin's top man in Westralia, ensuring the Westralian State Railways bought locomotives from the 'right' people. She had left him in Perth, travelled to Westralia, and served for some time in one of the Freedom Brigades fighting Victoria in the desert. With the end of the war, she now served as a waitress at the hotel.

"The Westralian Army," she almost spat, "fought for people like my father and Northwest - for the mine money. But us? We fought for freedom. We fought for a better world."

Her eyes seemed almost to glass over, and I fought the urge to prod; what unspoken tales lay behind that expression? What horrors could make a girl who looked barely twenty resemble a weathered, scarred old warrior? But I stopped myself - it was not my place to intrude. In any case, she didn't offer.

"Where's he gone now?" I asked.

"Cook," she replied. "A one-horse town on the Trans-Australia Railway. He's off to strongarm whoever's left there into selling him their souls, no doubt."

She closed her eyes, sighing.

"They always win, you know?"

I didn't ask who 'they' were, but I believe I could hazard a guess.

* * *

One of the great peculiarities of Australia is the proliferation of railway gauges. I had ridden from Perth to Kalgoorlie on a three-foot-six-inch railway, but for the journey onwards I would be riding the standard gauge of the Trans-Australia Railway, travelling over near featureless plain from Kalgoorlie to Port Augusta. This is the 'Nullabor' - literally 'treeless.' It is an apt name.

The Trans-Australia Express had only just resumed service, and it just about resembled the pre-war service exactly. Two tired diesel engines of the Westralian State Railways carried the equally tired brown carriages down a tired, bumpy railway line - the longest stretch of straight track in the world. It promised to be something of an ordeal.

Even for a concessionaire of rail travel myself, the trip to Cook became monotonous. I barely remember much of it; I slept, I read, I ate and contemplated those little thoughts that surface when one is bored. The half-dozen wooden buildings of Cook were almost a miracle to my weary, addled brain, and I jumped at the opportunity to get out.

To call Cook a one-horse town was an insult to one-horse towns; it had a permanent population of four, all employed by the railways. Exactly what Northwest wanted from Cook seemed a mystery - there was no-one to 'strongarm' - until the man at the railway grocer explained.

"It's the safest route to the opal mines at Coober Pedy," he said, leaning on an old scoped rifle as he counted my change. "The old Ghan line is still closed, and there's guerillas still out in the desert - the route from Cook is patrolled by the Yanks, so he got off here."

That, I supposed, made sense.

The train doesn't just stop at Cook to break the monotony of the trip - the westbound train passes here. It was running late, and Cook's delights soon became stale, so I found myself sitting on the step in the train door, looking up at the sky, thinking of nothing.

"You're a news bloke, aren't you?"

I looked up. The grocer had walked up to me, holding up what looked like a fax of all things.

"Yes," I said.

"Then you'll want to see this, mate."

He handed me the fax. I had barely looked at it before I realised that, once again, the news was following me.

_NORTHWEST FAMILY AMBUSHED. PRESTON AND PRISCILLA'S BODIES FOUND - DAUGHTER MISSING._

* * *

The second half of the trip was only moderately more exciting - there was a passport check and an engine change at the Victorian border. The Victorian guards were fairly good to foreigners on the train, but made a special effort to be that little bit more irritating to the Westralians. There was still bad blood from the war.

Victoria stretches from the Pacific and the Bass Straight to the Nullabor, and is one of the most powerful Australian nations; it is also one of the most controversial, to put it lightly. Since the 1854 Eureka Revolution, the government in Melbourne has claimed to be a stalwart defender of the people's liberties; provided, of course, that they are white men. They have only had normalised relations with Britain for the past decade, so I was keenly aware that I was in a place that was still somewhat hostile to Englishmen.

The first thing I saw when leaving the train at Port Augusta was a statue of a 'digger' (or gold miner) holding up the decapitated, brutalised head of Governor Hotham, which was not a terribly good omen.

I was not in Port Augusta for long. Here I was presented with two choices - down to Adelaide and then to Melbourne, or onwards over the dry outback to Broken Hill and the New South Wales border. In the end, there was no choice; due to 'fears of terrorism', the big Victorian cities were closed to foreigners for the forseeable future, unless they had the big mining dollars. New South Wales, it would have to be.

It's not an easy journey. What was once the colony of South Australia is now the province of Wakefield, and it can roughly be divided into two distinct sections. There is Adelaide and it's surrounds, which for the most part was assimilated by Victorian settlers after 1917. Then there is the outback, which has been a constant armed camp since the Victorians conquered South Australia. There was an attempt to draw back the garrison in the eighties, but the outbreak of the Westralian War had prevented this.

Those who remember the old days - when South Australia remained part of the short-lived Commonwealth of Australia - are long dead. But their folk heroes remain.

The train from Port Augusta to Peterborough, via Quorn, takes about seven hours to cover a hundred and fifty kilometers. It is one of the great ordeals of rail travel, and one I relished. There is something about the trip through the Pichi-Richi Pass, listening to the puffing and wheezing of the elderly 'T' class steam locomotive, and rocking around in a hot, old wooden carriage that simply can't be described. It's torturous, but in a way, it's exhilarating.

My compartment that hot and stuffy day was a woman, demurely dressed in the same austere, feminine fashions that Victoria is known for. Yet in her gloved hands, I could see a faded photograph in her purse - the face of Catherine Helen Spence, a suffragette who lived in South Australia in the 1890s.

I was hesitant to speak of it. But the carriage had no modern trappings, never mind bugs, and eventually curiosity got the better of me.

Her name was Jasmine. Her brother had fallen in the war, in a conscript rifle battalion. He was buried in an unmarked grave in the Nullabor, and she was his only surviving next of kin. The only problem was that she was a woman.

"All his worldly possessions were taken by the magistrate," she told me. "Not just his house and money, but his personal possessions. And I've been sent to live with some distant relatives in Peterborough. I've never even met them."

"You don't have a choice?"

She sighed, and glanced at the photograph.

"South Australia," she said, "was one of the first places in the world to give women the vote. But the Victorians rolled it all back when they took over. They claimed they were bringing utopia - but that utopia was only for men."

She shook her head.

"Women in this land," she told me, "are chattel. We cannot vote, or own property, or carry a passport. All our rights are deferred to our father, our older brother or our husbands. When your Channel Pact came to back Westralia, they promised they'd change back."

She looked out into the sunlit bush and sighed.

"But all they ever wanted was the mines," she said sadly. "The moment Victoria backed down on their claims, Westralia and its allies couldn't make peace fast enough. Liberation doesn't make money."

My heart told me this wasn't true - that the nations of the Channel Pact; Great Britain, the Low Countries and Canada - stood for democracy and freedom in a world of authoritarianism. But my weary and cynical brain, disillusioned after my trips across Europe and America, dissuaded me of such idealistic notions.

"Nations work for their own interests," I admitted. "I've seen it."

Jasmine nodded.

"I will not go to this strange family," she said firmly. "I promise that much. I intend to make a statement. I only hope somebody is listening."

"What statement would that be?"

"It is far better to die free than live a slave."

We didn't speak much after that. It was dark before we reached Peterborough, and I lost her in the clouds of steam that blanketed the platform. My stay in the local Railway Hotel was troubled - I regretted coming here, regretted being party, even as a witness, to oppression. In the dark I found myself questioning myself; was I hear to explore the world, to explain it to my readership, to expose injustice and wrongdoing in my newspaper columns? Or was I just a sick tourist, revelling in misery, making a living off the sorrow and oppression of others?

When I boarded the train to Cockburn, I still had no answer.

* * *

Victoria and New South Wales have been at peace for about thirty years; the longest unbroken period without at least a skirmish in their histories. This is fantastic news for the struggling Silverton Tramway, which only survives (largely on money funneled from Canberra) because it remains the only rail crossing point into western New South Wales. The silver mines have all closed down, but there remains a daily service from Cockburn, over the border at Silverton, and on to Broken Hill.

Like the Port Augusta to Peterborough train, the Tramway's passenger service is ancient, although it's at least diesel-hauled. It putters thirty kilometers from Cockburn to Silverton, hangs there for three hours while border checks are made, and then rambles on to Sulphide Street Station in Broken Hill.

There is absolutely nothing to do in Silverton, apart from being harrassed by the New South Wales Mounted Police for your passport. The station platform is a tiny, dirt-covered speck in the desert, with an abandoned corrugated-iron station building that is inhabited mostly by red-back spiders. There is nothing to do but sit for three hours and stare at the sky; or in my case, try to have a conversation with one of the other three passengers.

The news of the day came from Parliament in Canberra - the capital city that had been built in 1912 when the Commonwealth of Australia still existed (and there remained somewhat optimistic hope that Victoria might join.) The Prime Minister of New South Wales had condemned Victoria's 'racial purity' policies and demanded their immediate end.

"I'm not well-read on this," I admitted.

"The Victorians are extending their assimilation programs up around the Alice," said one of the passengers, a man named Fryman.

The 'Alice' was Alice Springs, the largest settlement of Victoria's northernmost province, Centralia. Centralia has the largest Aboriginal population of anywhere in Australia, so the extension of a racial assimilation program to this region was decidedly alarming.

"What does it entail?" I asked.

"They take kids from the Abos," replied another passenger. "Raise 'em in proper families."

"Proper?" I didn't like this man's tone. "Surely they have a right to-"

"They aren't doing shit with the land, mate," the other man snapped. "They just sit around in the sun while us hard-working _proper_ Victorians do all the work. We built the railways. We built the mines. What the hell have they ever done?"

"It's their land," snapped Fryman.

"Bullshit!" scoffed the man. "If you don't _cultivate _the land, it's Terra Nullius. That's what Captain Cook said, and that's the reason I'm here - and _you_, for that matter. New South Wales didn't stop takin' kids until, what was it, 1991?"

Fryman looked down, grimacing.

"1992."

"See?" The man crossed his arms. "We're giving these kids 'ope, anyway. Takin' 'em from no-hoper families and puttin' them in _enlightened_ institutions. Givin' 'em a future!"

He sneered.

"Not to mention breedin' the black out of 'em."

We both decided to give this man his space.

"I had no idea racism like that still existed," I admitted.

"Then you haven't been out much," replied Fryman.

He crossed his arms as he surveyed the flat plains.

"My kids went to school with aboriginals," he said, "and a family from Ghana besides. And… and it took me a long time to accept that. 'Cause the way I'd always been told, growing up, was that our civilisation was the most advanced, the most humane, and that translated into…"

He rubbed the back of his head.

"We don't _decide _to be racist, we learn it," he told me. "From our parents, from our schools, from our governments. That guy over there? He got told to believe that stuff, until it was ingrained into him. Doesn't excuse him, but it explains him."

I nodded.

"I… took a long time to unlearn that stuff," he continued. "But my kids, they won't have to unlearn that stuff. It's gonna be a long time, but I'm hoping that, over a few generations…"

"But they don't _have_ generations," I said. "This is happening _now. _So what do we do?"

"We fight," he replied simply. "But who's going to start another war over aboriginal people? Britain? America? If you went into the British parliament and told them that you could trade the lives of a hundred British soldiers for ten thousand aboriginal children, do you think they'd make that trade?"

"I think-"

"They wouldn't trade _one_ British soldier for ten thousand aboriginals," said Fryman bitterly. "And you know it."

As we carried on to Broken Hill, I told myself that wasn't true. But I was not a practiced liar, and those paltry words of comfort fell flat. I arrived in Broken Hill feeling decidedly low, and thus opted to skip dinner that night and head straight to bed.

It is safe to say that my faith in humanity was approaching it's nadir.

* * *

The Silver City Comet was once a marvel - the first air-conditioned train in the British Empire. Today it's star has waned, but it remains a fast and comfortable link between Broken Hill and Parkes. It has to be - the businessmen use it.

Broken Hill is the centre of BHP's empire, although their offices and properties are a ways out of town and thus I never saw them. I saw the suits on the train, discussing profit margins and closing deals; I had no time for them. I sat alone for much of the journey, gazing at the dry outback as it flew by.

I must have worn my emotions on my sleeve, as presently a man came to talk to me. He was a war veteran with a prosthetic arm, one of those advanced military ones they gave to wounded soldiers in the US marines (and enough to make him legally transhuman); his name was Shiro, and his expression was warm as he spoke to me.

"Something on your mind?" he asked.

For a moment I hesitated, but then it all came out; everything from my deep thoughts on morality, my own and others, and on societal injustice and oppression, to little things like the disappearance of the Northwests and the abandonment of space exploration. I fear it all came out as a jumbled stream of consciousness, but he seemed to understand well enough.

"Do you take pleasure in the things you see?" he asked me. "Do you find suffering fun?"

"What?" I replied, somewhat aghast. "No!"

"Well," he said, "you're not a 'sick tourist', are you?"

He smiled and looked out the window.

"You write to express yourself," he said, "and as a way to communicate your feelings to your readers. You write about these terrible things, but you make it _clear_ they're terrible, that people should feel disgusted and angry, you know?"

"But does it matter if nothing ever changes?" I asked.

"Maybe it does," he replied. "Maybe you need to stop looking at the big picture so much and think about the little things. Like… that couple in Poland, back when you went through Europe."

I raised an eyebrow. "You read that?"

Shiro nodded.

"You didn't change the world," he said, "but you gave them a chance. That counts for something."

I pursed my lips, thinking.

"None of us can just snap our fingers and make the world a better place," he told me, "but we can all still help people, even if it's only in tiny ways. Even if it's just by telling their stories."

"But am I telling them right?" I asked.

Shiro raised his brow.

"Only you can be the judge of that," he replied.

He got up and walked away, leaving me alone again to think.

* * *

There's a dish in Parkes that watches satellites; it also watched the ill-fated moon landing by _Britannia _IV in 1974, and famously broadcast the last known words of Brian Wilson. There's a museum there, but I didn't stay long - it focused not on science and the opportunities of space, but on the dangers and the tragic fate of that first, last moon landing.

This was to be my last stop - the Central-West Express would take me the rest of the way, through Bathurst and Lithgow and across the Blue Mountains to Sydney. That night, I found myself taking a restless walk, beyond the Dish near which I was staying and into the open, empty grassland, where I sat and gazed up at the night sky.

I sat there for some time.

* * *

The Central-West Express whisked me away the following day at noon, powering through central New South Wales behind powerful diesel locomotives, before exchanging them at Lithgow for an electric locomotive for the last haul over the mountains. It was getting darker by then, but there was enough light to enjoy the scenery of the climb up the Lithgow Valley, under the old viaducts of the Zig Zag Railway and through the so-called 'Ten Tunnels.'

Then, suddenly, we ground to a halt at Katoomba station. A goods train had derailed ahead, knocking down the overhead wires, and it wasn't likely that the train could continue until morning.

Once again I found myself wandering alone in the night, walking down to the lookout over the Jamison Valley. In the moonlight, I could see the so-called Three Sisters, the rock formation outlined in silver. Above, I could see more stars than I could ever count.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

I jumped. A blonde woman was standing next to me, leaning on the railing. I couldn't help but feel she looked familiar.

"It is," I replied at last. "I wonder if we deserve it."

"Deserve what?"

I waved my arm at the view. "This world."

I heard a laugh - another woman walked up, grinning.

"This world wouldn't be half as interesting without you," she replied kindly, putting an arm over the blonde woman's shoulder. I thought for a moment, trying to connect her face to a name.

Then, like a ton of bricks, it hit me.

"You're Pacifica-"

"Don't tell anybody," she replied. "I'm making a new start."

I swallowed and nodded.

"They say you're dead."

"I prefer it that way. Mabel saved me."

I nodded.

"A new life… together?" I hazarded a guess.

Mabel beamed. "Yep!"

"Well, uh, congratulations," I said.

Mabel stepped forward, putting a hand on my shoulder.

"I've been following you." She laughed as my eyes widened. "Not _literally!_ I mean I've read your stuff! I love reading about this world; it's such an amazingly beautiful place!"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Those nice people in Poland who just wanted a new life," she replied. "That transhuman girl in Russia. That poor old guy visiting his lover's grave in Nebraska. The woman in Nevada."

"But… none of those are nice stories…" I scratched the back of my head.

"But that's the thing!" exclaimed Mabel. "They're sad, they're happy, they're weird, they're ugly, but every single one is a window into a beautiful, tragic, wonderful, _incredible_ life! Why else would you talk to these people?"

"You could just write about trains, and nobody would blame you," said Pacifica. "But I think what _really _interests you is the people you meet along the way."

I shrugged.

"What's the point in train travel without stories?" I asked.

Mabel's grin widened.

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "And you know what? A story can change more than you could ever know. Trust me - take a look at the newspaper tomorrow."

She smiled again and took Pacifica's hand.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we're gonna head off for home," she said.

"Where's that for you?" I asked. "Katoomba? Mount Victoria? Penrith?"

"Oh, it's much further than that," Pacifica replied.

"Keep on writing, friend!" exclaimed Mabel as they walked off towards the bush trail. "I love seeing what your people get up to!"

"Okay!" I called back.

I paused, raising an eyebrow.

"Wait, what do you mean by _my_ people?"

Alas, they were long gone. Yet I still can't shake the feeling that, in that dark and starlit night, I saw a faint green _glow_ from the dark canopy of the trees.

* * *

The only engine available the next morning was a steam engine - the famed No. 3801, which had been stabled at Mount Victoria the previous night. She made a spirited run to Sydney Central Station, and the sound of the engine put me into a kind of _zen_. We soared past Mount Victoria, Lapstone, Emu Plains, Penrith, Parramatta, Granville and Strathfield, and allowed myself to divest from the world, losing myself in the unique feel of a steam train until we rolled into Central.

I found the newspaper stand on the platform and, remembering what Mabel had told me, picked one up. There, in the front page in screaming black ink, was the headline; _REBELLION._

I read more as I rode the underground train to Circular Quay. Women across Wakefield had risen up, and copycat protests were rising in the Victorian heartland. At the same time, and apparently without coordination, aboriginal activists had seized the railway station in Alice Springs. The governments in Canberra, Perth, Hobart and Esperance had already made cautious statements of support, although Queensland remained pointedly silent. The paper's opinion articles feared a new war.

_Maybe_, I thought.

I stepped off the train at Circular Quay and walked down to the water, sitting on a bench and looking out over the harbour towards the famous bridge. I looked around at the boats in the water, at the people living and loving and enjoying themselves in the warm afternoon; I looked up at the fluffy white clouds, and in a moment I felt as though my soul had been saved.

For my faith, I knew, had been challenged - not in any God or religion, but in humankind; in that moment, I realised it had weathered the storm. For humanity, with all its flaws, for all the lust for money and power, for all the learned prejudices and bigotries, is ultimately and inherently worth saving, and we cannot give in to the allure of hopeless misanthropy. Furthermore, I was reassured of my mission as a journalist and a traveller to write honestly what I had seen, not just for myself but for this beautiful and flawed world.

It was at that moment that, for the first time since I'd arrived in Australia, I recieved a message on my phone. Somewhat confused, I took the device out to see what I had sent.

I don't know if this message was a hoax - part of me thinks it was. I'll leave you to decide.

_Tell them Brian says hi._

* * *

'You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.' - Mahatma Gandhi


	20. 20 10 19: They Blocked Dipper's Game

**20/10/19: They Blocked Dipper's Game**

_The following story is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any real life protests, regimes, companies or beloved cartoon bears is completely coincidental._

On Monday, Corporate was alerted of a terrible problem.

Preston clutched his hair as he watched Dipper Pines, who had been streaming his new favourite supernatural-based online card game, 'Hearthspook,' make a subtle and milquetoast statement in support of the ongoing protests in a large city overseas. Already, he could feel the beads of sweat on the back of his neck, his teeth chattering, his hands becoming clammy.

"_So yeah, I just wanted to talk about that, because, y'know, democracy's great and..._"

"What does the Regime say?" demanded Preston.

"Well sir," replied Drew Pickles, his accountant, "I tapped the word 'democracy' into my tablet and it's just making a big angry face."

Preston swallowed.

"We can't risk action from the Grand Poohbah," he said. "We must bring the hammer of justice upon him - send the kill squads."

"Uh... that's very illegal, sir."

"Fine, just ban him for a year and take any prize money he won away from him."

"Yes sir..."

* * *

On Tuesday, Dipper Pines was banned from Hearthspook for a year, and lost all thirty dollars of his e-sports winnings. Ford Pines, who appeared on screen for eight seconds while Dipper had been talking, was also banned from Hearthspook, even though he had no account. Preston cheerfully believed it was the end of it.

"They're _boycotting _us?!"

Preston's eyes were wide as one of his aides, Bill Dewey, read his report.

"Three of our biggest competitive players say they're withdrawing from all competitions," he explained. "Also, they found what our Regime account posted."

"We have a social media account in the Regime?" Preston tilted his head. "What did it say?"

"Uh, here." Dewey handed him a slip of paper.

_Valued customers,_

_Were it not for the laws of his land, we would have slaughtered Dipper Pines._

_As it stands, we are beside ourselves with rage at his insolence. Rest assured, this company will always work to uphold the honour and dignity of this country, this regime, and our Grand Poohbah, and remain entirely committed to reducing all freedoms in other markets to serve his wise goals._

"Is... that consistent with our corporate vision?" asked Preston.

Drew looked at a spreadsheet.

"...yes."

"Huh," Preston scratched his moustache. "I thought we were still pretending to be committed to democracy and the rule of law and that nonsense."

"Nope, it's all that sweet Regime money."

"Sir, we need to start working on damage control," said Dewey. "How about we tell them this Pines kid just broke a rule or something? There's got to be one in the fine print."

"Yes... yes! That'll certainly take the heat off!"

* * *

On Wednesday, another set of streamers voiced support for the protests.

Preston crossed his arms as he watched Tulip, flanked by Atticus and One-One, holding up the sign.

"_Go on! Ban me! I dare you!_" she shouted.

"_We stand united against tyranny!_" added Atticus.

"_This is probably useless,_" One-One said glumly.

"Ban the shit out of them," said Preston.

"We can't, sir, it'll be bad for our image," replied Dewey.

The door opened.

"Sir," said an intern (a woman named Tambry,) "The Grand Poohbah wants to speak to you."

Preston swallowed.

* * *

"_You have made me very bothered, Mr. Northwest._"

Preston wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as he bowed before the holographic form of the robed bear before him, shaking in his shoes; he felt incredibly small in the presence of his master.

"My lord, please, I have it all figured out-"

"_Your video game characters are joining the protests, Northwest,_" snarled the Grand Poohbah. "_The vicious heffalumps of 'democracy' are using _your tools_ to poison the minds of _my subjects._"_

"I will fix it, my lord," declared Preston.

"_Oh, you'd better, Mr. Northwest,_" said the Grand Poohbah, "_Or you'll lose access to _all my honey..."

Preston shook, dreading the thought.

"I would sell my soul for the almighty dollar, my lord," he said. "It will be done."

"_Oh ho ho ho! My dear Mr. Northwest..._" The Grand Poohbah smiled unpleasantly. "_You already have..._"

He laughed as his hologram faded away, leaving Preston in darkness.

* * *

On Thursday, Corporate banned Tulip's team. They also released a statement declaring that both she and Dipper had been banned for 'unsolicited political speech.'

"Is that going to mean I can't share hate speech on stream?" said the Biggest Streamer In The World.

"Oh no, that's fine," said Preston.

Unfortunately, it didn't have the effect Corporate had wanted.

"They're going to protest at CorpCon, sir," said Dewey.

"Of course they are," said Preston wearily.

"We've also gotten a letter from Senator Stevonnie," added Drew.

"They're a senator now?" asked Dewey. "Huh."

"They're mad," continued Drew. "They're _very_ mad. They say we're having a chilling effect on free speech in America."

"_But that's the whole idea!_"

Preston groaned and buried his head in his hands.

"Mr. Northwest?"

"Right!" Preston stood up, straightening his tie. "This requires _bold and decisive leadership! _Come on, gentlemen, we have a corporate image to fix!"

* * *

On Friday, Corporate announced 5% off all of their games for the day, contingent on gamers promising not to criticise the Regime in any way ever again no matter what.

It did not work.

Preston looked wearily down at the protesters that had surrounded the building, flowing about the glass citadel like waves. He sighed and took off his jacket, falling into a chair and burying his head in his hands.

"Sir, the Grand Poohbah is coming up to see you," said Tambry.

Preston nodded wordlessly.

"Sir?" asked Dewey.

"Gentlemen," said Preston, "it has been a privilege doing business with you tonight."

From seemingly nowhere, he took out a violin and began playing Nearer To God To Thee.

* * *

The security guards outside had gathered to await the Grand Poohbah's arrival. They aimed their rifles at the door, preparing to defend Preston from his wrath.

The lights suddenly shut off, one by one. With shaking hands, they kept their weapons trained on the end of the hall, waiting in terror for the moment to come.

Then there came the red light of the sabre, and they found themselves face to face with the Grand Poohbah's most feared henchman; and they thus knew this was the end.

For they stood no chance against Darth Piglet.

* * *

what's a china?


	21. 21 10 19: Kingston Gaol

NAUTICAL PIRACY IS STEALING. STEALING IS AGAINST THE LAW.

_*intense metal music*_

* * *

**21/10/19: Kingston Gaol/The Fiddler's Green**

Oh, I once was a guard at Kingston Gaol  
Where they hung the buccaneers,  
And the tales of crime and sin I heard,  
You'd hardly believe your ears,  
I watched pirates swing,  
Heard the prisoners sing,  
Knew the wastrels of the sea,  
And I heard them speak their melancholy last,  
As they went to the Fidd'ler's Green.

_As they went to the Fidd'ler's Green, m'boys, as they went to the Fidd'ler's Green,  
And I heard them speak their melancholy last,  
As they went to the Fidd'ler's Green._

Oh, we took Black Bill from his squalid cell,  
One cold, wet November morn,  
He had but one eye and the Devil's stare,  
And skin as yellow as corn,  
He gave us a grin,  
And spoke of his sin,  
And how evil he had been,  
And he'd no remorse and he'd no regret,  
As he went to the Fidd'ler's Green.

_As he went to the Fidd'ler's Green, m'boys, as he went to the Fidd'ler's Green,  
And he'd no remorse and he'd no regret,  
As he went to the Fidd'ler's Green._

Oh, next came a man with dashing good looks,  
'Twas the Phantom of the Seas,  
His hair stark white and his eyes so green,  
'Twas the end of poor Danny,  
He went with a smile,  
Which stuck for a while,  
As he swung before the sea.  
And in the gibbet he rotted away,  
Long gone to the Fidd'ler's Green.

_Long gone to the Fidd'ler's Green, m'boys, long gone to the Fidd'ler's Green,  
And in the gibbet he rotted away,  
Long gone to the Fidd'ler's Green._

Oh, a pair came next; women of the flag  
Of the breth'ren of the sea,  
And the Gov'nor said, "Is this a mistake?  
Can we hang beauties like thee?"  
And the red one said,  
"A pox on your head!  
We will die here brave and free,  
And Sapphy and I will be free to love,  
When we've gone to the Fidd'ler's Green."

_When we've gone to the Fidd'ler's Green, m'boys, when we've gone to the Fidd'ler's Green,  
And Sapphy and I will be free to love,  
When we've gone to the Fidd'ler's Green._

Oh, brave Tim Turner had scoffed and he'd spat,  
In the judge's face he'd sneered,  
But he wept and cried as they dragged him up,  
And his final chapter neared,  
And we told him, "Son,  
Don't cry that it's done,  
For you know what capture means,  
And we have no choice but to send you off,  
On the road to the Fidd'ler's Green."

_On the road to the Fidd'ler's Green, m'boys, on the road to the Fidd'ler's Green,  
And we have no choice but to send you off,  
On the road to the Fidd'ler's Green._

Oh, out came Bold Bis', the last of the day,  
As the sun began to fall,  
She had stalked the ships on the Africa run,  
The judge scorned, but she stood tall.  
And Bold 'Bis said, "Well,  
I'll see you in hell,  
And I guess we both shall see,  
If a law that says you can enslave men,  
Counts for much in the Fidd'ler's Green.

_Counts for much in the Fidd'ler's Green, m'boys, counts for much in the Fidd'ler's Green,  
If a law that says you can enslave men,  
Counts for much in the Fidd'ler's Green._

Oh, I've seen men dance from the end of the rope,  
And I've seen their skin turn black,  
Sometimes they wheeze and they moan and they write,  
But sometimes there's just a _crack,_  
So turn your back,  
And scorn the black,  
And forget your pirate dreams,  
Or it may be you rotting in the bay,  
As you cross to the Fidd'ler's Green.

_As you cross to the Fidd'ler's Green, m'boys, as you cross to the Fidd'ler's Green,  
Or it may be you rotting in the bay,  
As you cross to the Fidd'ler's Green._

_As you cross to the Fidd'ler's Green, m'boys, as you cross to the Fidd'ler's Green,  
Or it may be you rotting in the bay,  
As you cross to the Fidd'ler's Green._

* * *

You know they never actually paid the guy who did the music in the anti-piracy ads. Big companies; they're the real pirates.


	22. 22 10 19: Salt Seas

So I did a little change of plan today. I had intended to do the Prime Ministers of Australia like I did the Presidents and British PMs, but I run short of time. As a result, I'm sharing this - the next chapter of my fic 'Salt Seas' on AO3, which has yet to be posted there. Salt Seas has been on extended hiatus, but I'd like to continue it someday. This was edited by my very good friend realfakedoors, for which I am extremely grateful.

The last chapter ended with Captain Pearl RN and the pirate Lapis Lazuli facing off in a mysterious cave. Let's see what happens...

* * *

**22/10/19: Salt Seas**

The two captains stared down each other in the dark, dank cave, the only sound being the trickle of the waterfall.

"So, any last requests?" demanded Pearl, pointing her sword precariously close to Lapis' nose.

"Well, I assume you wouldn't grant it anyway, so I probably shouldn't say it…" shrugged Lapis.

"No, I'm curious!" Pearl smirked, "What does a pirate scum like you think of when they stare death in the face? Do you regret your actions? Would you want a last meal? To see a beloved partner one last time before the gallows?

Lapis bit her lip.

"Well, there is _one _thing," she mused.

Pearl inched forward.

"Tell me."

Lapis grinned.

"With pleasure."

She threw her knee upwards, slamming into Pearl's stomach. As the naval captain winced and doubled over, Lapis tore her sword from her hand and grabbed her shoulder.

"And now, my request."

She leaned forward and kissed Pearl square on the lips, just for a second. Then she pulled back, grinning impishly as the Captain stood in dumbfounded shock, her complexion burning with a furious blush.

"Well, see you next time!"

She bolted off, scaling up the slope and leaving Pearl leagues behind. For a few seconds, the Captain was stuck in a shocked, perplexed silence, her jaw dropped.

Eventually, she came to her senses, shaking her head and blinking.

"Hang on," she said, "She stole my _sword! Bloody pirate!_"

Without hesitating, she reached down into the pool, grabbing another sword from the water as a replacement. She then raced after Lapis, climbing back up the slope.

* * *

Lapis crested the rise, and immediately came face-to-face with a line of British marines, their muskets trained on her. One of them, a blonde fellow, began to speak.

"Your crew bailed on you, Lazuli! There's nowhere to-"

"Well, I'd better catch 'em them!"

Lapis slid under the barrels of the muskets, shoving the blonde marine's up into the air. He fired, and the recoil sent him tumbling down into the mud.

"Peedee!"

"Agh! My shoulder!"

"Quick, after her!"

She raced into the trees, wincing only slightly at the sudden crack of the muskets - the rounds either missed or bounced off the thick growth, leaving her unharmed. There was just one problem of course - she'd read Kidd's map, which meant the path (for lack of a better word) she was taking led to a cliff.

Oh well. Good thing she wasn't afraid of heights.

She could see it coming - the sudden end of the terrain and the worryingly distant water. Still she ran, waiting for _exactly _the right moment.

Then, she leapt.

* * *

Steven gasped as he watched the pirate jump from the cliff through his spyglass.

From the other ship, Amethyst simply smirked and crossed her arms. "Show off," she muttered.

She dived gracefully, twisting through the air and landing with a mighty splash in the water. As she did so, the marines, Connie at their head, arrived at the cliff, gazing down into the bay.

"She's dead, right?" asked Jeff, "She's gotta be dead…"

Then, triumphantly, she emerged from the cerulean waves, jeering and sending obscene gestures towards the redcoats above.

"Nice try, lobsters!" she cried, "But you can't catch-"

"_Fire!_" Connie bellowed.

Lapis winced as she was suddenly surrounded by the splashes made by the musket balls.

"Point taken, I'm out!"

With that, she dived underwater again and began to swim towards the _Malachite._

Jeff frowned, turning to Peedee.

"Why'd she call us lobsters?" he asked.

"_Red _coats."

"Oh, right."

* * *

"Confounded pirate! Blast, zounds, curses, forsooth, _DAMN!_"

Pearl took off her hat and mopped her brow.

"Please excuse my language, Ms. Sapphire."

"You're excused, Captain."

Pearl and her officers were gathered in the captain's cabin of HMS _Rose_, lit a brilliant gold by the setting sun in the distant. Pearl was in a foul mood - not only had she failed to capture the pirate, but the buccaneer had even made off with her sword. Swords did not come cheap (especially when the Admiralty made one buy it herself), and she had grown fond of that sabre. Now all she had was this strange sword of Kidd's, which was laid out on her table.

It wasn't a bad sword at all, but it seemed decidedly _old_ \- like what one might imagine some classical hero of myth using. As she gazed on it, Pearl imagined Perseus fighting Medusa, or perhaps a Roman general at the head of his army - certainly not a down-on-his-luck privateer like William Kidd.

"It looks like something Heracles would use," mused Sapphire, gingerly running a finger along the iron surface, "Perhaps it's…"

She trailed off as the officers suddenly became keenly aware of a quiet singing.

"_...some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules, of Hector and Lysander and such_-"

"Ms. Peridot," said Pearl, her voice dangerously even, "Are you singing _The British Grenadiers?_"

Peridot suddenly stopped, swallowing loudly.

"Ms. Peridot, have we become _Army _officers?" asked the Captain, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Well, I am," shrugged Connie.

"Yes, but you're a Marine, you don't really count," reassured Sapphire.

"Sorry, what's wrong with the Army?" asked Steven.

"We _work _for our positions, Mr. Universe," replied Pearl, her hands tucked officially behind her back, "They _buy _theirs."

_Or win them at cards_, she mentally added.

"There's an inscription on here," said Sapphire, swiftly driving the conversation away from deriding the Army, "I can't read it, but I _think_ it's classical."

"I did Greek and Latin in boarding school," said Peridot brightly, "Let me take a look."

She leaned in and began to read.

"Behold this enchanted sword, forged by Poseidon and handed by the nymph Calypso to Odysseus. He who possesses this sword may consider himself and his crew freed from the strange and wonderful curses of the seven seas, for as long as it remains in his sheath."

There was a long silence.

"A simple 'it's Greek' would have sufficed, Ms. Peridot," said Pearl.

"So it's enchanted," mused Steven.

"No such thing, Mr. Universe," replied Pearl, "It's just a fairy tale."

"I dunno, Captain," said Connie, a thin frown on her lips, "Something about it seems… I don't know. Magic?"

"I wonder what the ring does," muttered Steven.

"Nothing," snapped Pearl, "It does _nothing_. Any further wild speculation about.. _Magic_ while on duty, and I'll have you on double-watch for the rest of the way to Port Royal. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," Steven and Connie said flatly.

"Very good," said Pearl, "And that goes for the rest of you. There is _no such thing as magic._"

* * *

Lapis stared closely at the gem on top of the ring, squinting.

"...there is _definitely _a tiny ship in this."

"What, like, a little model or something?" asked Amethyst.

They were gathered in the small, dirty captain's cabin of the _Malachite,_ the room lit by the soft glow of the lamp that swayed gently on the low roof. Lapis sat in her captain's chair - notable for being very slightly nicer than the others - while Amethyst, Bismuth and Ruby had gathered around her. Lapis turned the ring over in her hands, studying it closely.

"No, I mean there's literally a ship in here," she replied, "Like, on a stormy sea and everything. I think it's magic."

"You sure?" asked Bismuth, "You remember that time that guy sold Amethyst a magic sheep and it just turned out to be a really big dog?"

"Hey, anyone could've been fooled by that," shrugged Amethyst.

"It was _brown_."

"There are brown sheep."

"Hey, both of you leave the Dread Captain Maneater out of this," snapped Ruby, "He's a _good boy._"

Bismuth took the ring, taking a closer look at it. She nodded thoughtfully.

"Looks like a galley," she said, "Probably Greek."

"How can you tell?" asked Lapis.

"Well, the writing on the ring's also Greek," shrugged Bismuth, "I'm not one hundred percent clear on what it says, but I _think_ it says it was given to Odysseus by Calypso, and apparently, it can command the seas, if the right person wields it."

Lapis pursed her lips, nodding. She nodded for some time.

"...so we've got a ring that supposedly controls the ocean," she said, "Which means…"

"...some sucker's gonna pay a _lot_ of money for this," declared Amethyst.

They exchanged grins.

"Ames, set a course for Port Royal," Lapis ordered, "Let's find a rich lord with more money than sense."

"But… we're pirates," said Ruby, "How do we get into one of the King's Navy's main ports?

Lapis' grin widened.

"Well, don't ask me," she replied, "Ask _Lieutenant Amethyst._"


	23. 23 10 19: Reds

**23/10/19: Reds**

_Maryland, August 1960_

The sky was stained black with both smoke and thunderclouds, and to the north Captain 'Shiro' Shirogane could just about see the glow of the fires that had consumed Baltimore. The sound of pounding artillery and distant sirens gave the whole view a sinister ambience.

He sat in the cupola of his Patton tank, ash and light drizzle raining down on him. They were waiting by the road for the 2nd Armored Division to retreat past them, but it had been an hour and Shiro had seen no sign of them; the men spoke in hushed whispers of their possible fate. The infantry mulled around the steel beasts, each of them unable to put themselves at ease. Shiro couldn't blame them; he was on edge too.

The Reds had taken Baltimore in a lightning strike, catching the hastily assembled garrison completely by surprise. General Bradley, pulled out of retirement to take command of the defence, had rushed whatever divisions were closest to keep them busy while the defences of Washington were consolidated, but it was clear that time had run out. They were coming south, and Shiro and his men would soon be in the crucible.

"_This is Battalion HQ, come in, over._"

Shiro picked up his radio.

"Reading you, over."

"_Red infantry and light armour are advancing on your position, move your company into firing positions, over._"

"Roger, HQ, we're moving up, over."

He switched the radio frequency.

"Alright A Coy, we're up. Move up onto the field, over."

With a roar, the engines of seventeen tanks spooled up, and the stench of gasoline filled the air. The infantrymen sprung into action, sprinting forward towards the line of slit trenches on the ridge in front of them. The area had been cleared of vegetation to allow for clear firing lines, almost giving the impression of a western gulch.

"Driver, forward one hundred metres."

The tank rumbled forward, crawling up the ridge to its crest. Around it, the other tanks spread out as they took their predetermined positions.

From the ridge they could see an open clearing with a small suburb beyond; or rather, what _had_ been a suburb. Artillery, both theirs and the enemy's, had smashed this icon of modern America into pieces, and the burnt wreckage of what had once been shiny new automobiles were strewn across the blackened streets. Shiro grabbed his binoculars and took a closer look.

Reds. They were already marching out of the ruins, their silhouettes unmistakable in the gloom. They advanced in complete defiance of conventional military logic; each about three yards apart, marching briskly in shining red armour, their massive arms lugging enormous tungsten-shooting rifles.

The Reds were each about ten meters tall, and they seemed to be built of red canyon rock. Their eyes glowed like orbs of flame, visible even from far away. Their strides were long, allowing them to cover ground quickly even at their walking pace. Their bulk (Shiro couldn't tell if it was muscle or just thick rock) put even the heaviest linebacker to shame. Behind them came their light tanks - devilishly fast balls wielding a heavy 'auto-cannon,' walking on spindly legs like a spider. These hurried ahead of the infantry, pelting towards Shiro's positions.

"Focus on the armour," he said, "and fire at will, over."

He ducked back into the cupola and closed the hatch behind him. He looked into the periscope and could just about see one of the red spiders closing in.

"Gunner, spider at seven hundred meters and closing."

"I see it, firing."

There was a _crack_, and Shiro's ears rang. The world shook as the gun fired, sending it's 90mm shell soaring towards the Red spider tank. Shiro blinked and returned to the periscope - the spider was burning, although he had no way of telling if his tank had fired the killing shot.

"It's brewed up - new target thirty degrees left, eight hundred metres."

"_Shit, I can't see a damn thing, I'm going up._"

Shiro cursed. It was one of the newer tank commanders; James Griffin, wasn't it? He quickly took hold of his radio.

"Negative, do _not_ expose yourself, I repeat, do not-"

There was another bang as the gun fired.

"-over."

"_What? I didn't- I didn't hear that. I'm going up._"

Shiro swore again and shot up, opening the hatch. He exposed as much of his head as he dared, and winced as he saw Griffin standing in his own turret. He looked like Rommel in the old propaganda pictures, completely defiant of any personal danger; the difference being that those pictures had been taken far behind the line, and Griffin was in firing range of the enemy.

"Griffin!" Shiro shouted. "Get your head back in-"

A tungsten round whizzed by at the speed of sound - in fact it actually missed Griffin's arm by about half a metre. But the shockwave that followed it did not; his arm and the right half of his torso seemed almost to vanish into a red gunk that sprayed the top of his tank. He took about a second to process what had happened; then he glanced down, seeing his entrails spilling down into the turret, his exposed ribcage, the gore that covered his commander's seat.

Quite understandably, he started to scream. He writhed in the commander's hatch, trying desperately to crawl out, screeching and howling for his mother as he did so.

Shiro swallowed, reached into his holster and pulled out his pistol.

"Sorry Griffin," he muttered, taking aim at his head.

"Uh, Captain? Do you feel that?"

Shiro ducked down, opening his mouth to reply to the gunner, when he suddenly noticed the ground shaking. Stealing a glance through the periscope, he watched in shocked awe as the ruined suburb turned into a cloud of dust, exploding outwards.

Something had emerged from the ground - and it was _titanic._

The new Red weapon resembled a giant dome, supported by eight enormous legs, each the size of a three-storey house. On each side it carried two enormous turrets, each carrying what looked like a trio of battleship guns, and in the front was a gigantic, swaying nozzle. It was covered with what looked almost like _vines_, and two evil-looking lights just above the strange hose cast an eerie red glow over the battlefield.

"Holy shit," whispered Shiro.

"I've seen a lot of stuff in my time," said the gunner, "but if you could tell me what the fu-"

The titanic guns fired - they did not shoot shells but rays of concentrated yellow light. Each hit a Patton tank, and suddenly every hatch was erupting with plumes of fire. Sharp, horrible screams on the radio blasted in Shiro's ears and he was forced to rip off his headset.

Perhaps mercifully, one of the first tanks hit was Griffin's. Peeking back outside the hatch, he could see his corpse burning as fire consumed the interior of his vehicle.

The nozzle activated next. A wave of white-hot flame swept over the forward slit trenches, and Shiro could see men in flames scrambling out, screaming and howling as they expired before his eyes. Quickly he took stock of the situation - he had lost half of his command in one shot, and he knew his tank had no hope of taking on the titan.

"Driver, get us out of here!" he bellowed.

The tank lurched back as the titan fired another volley - Shiro winced as a nearby tank exploded, the turret flying into the air. They were almost out of view of the cursed machine when the tank suddenly turned sharply right and ground to a halt.

"Shit! We've thrown a track!" the driver shouted.

Shiro cursed.

"Everyone out! Abandon tank!" he shouted, clambering out of the hatch. "Before it-"

Shiro's senses were suddenly scrambled, and for a few moments he perceived nothing.

The next thing he knew, he was being dragged down the ridge - he could see his burning tank in his peripheral vision. A rifleman was pulling him along and shouting, but Shiro couldn't hear anything but a dull ringing.

The ground shook slightly, and a Red entered his vision, thrusting his bayonet into the soldier's chest. The soldier let out a mute scream and crumpled to the ground - the Red focused his attention on Shiro. For a moment, human and alien stared at each other.

Then the Red swung his rifle around and thrust the butt into Shiro's head, sending him plunging into darkness.

* * *

"The Reds have reached Bethesda, sir."

President Eisenhower buried his head in his hands. The Oval Office was dark, and the dim lights cast long, moody shadows over the meeting. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, General Twining, was giving his grim briefing; not far away, Secretary of Defence Thomas S. Gates paced back and forth, hand on his chin.

"They've linked up with their southern thrust?" the President asked.

"Yes sir," replied Twining, "and they've established air superiority, sir."

"Do we have any good news?"

"The Vice-President has reached Raven Rock, sir," replied Gates, "and as I understand it, Senator Kennedy is on his way there too. We are going to have a bipartisan response to this."

"How's the situation in Europe?"

"Bad and getting worse," admitted Twining. "We've lost control of West Germany and they're heading towards France and the Low Countries; plus the Soviets are getting their asses kicked in Poland, which isn't something I ever expected to be upset about."

Eisenhower shook his head.

"Does anybody have any ideas about how we actually _defeat_ these things?" he asked.

There was a long silence, and the former general sighed heavily.

"Oh it's a lovely war," he muttered to himself.

Outside the window, the sky was black - but in the far distance, there was the faintest tinge of red.

* * *

you all thought it was communism but actually it was the war of the worlds


	24. 24 10 19: The Prime Ministers

HEY, MISTAH PRIME MINISTAH! _ANDY!_

* * *

**24/10/19: The Prime Ministers of Australia**

It's been a while since I've done a sardonic list of national leaders. Time to fix that!

_Sir Edmund Barton (1901-1903): _Numero-uno; the first Prime Minister after Federation. He was a Protectionist so he liked big meaty tariffs. He made Australia the first nation in the world to give women the vote, established the army, and made it government policy to exclude anyone with a complexion lighter than sour cream from immigration. He then went off to the High Court where he knocked about for sixteen years.

_Alfred Deakin (1903-1904): _An icon of liberal democrats everywhere (as long as they ignore his role in crafting the White Australia Policy.) He claimed the Policy was needed for social justice, so insert ess-jay-double-u joke here. His government collapsed quickly as nobody could really agree on anything except for big meaty tariffs.

_John Christian 'Chris' Watson (1904):_ Was born in Chile and was the first Labour prime minister, not just in Australia but anywhere in the world; basically he was the first socialist leader if you don't count the Communards. He couldn't form a majority in parliament and rage-quit in four months.

_Sir George Reid (1904-1905): _Imagine if the Fat Controller fused with Grover Cleveland and you can just about picture George Reid. He did not like big meaty tariffs, but a lot of his government did, so you can imagine how well that went down. He passed an important industrial arbitration law, but then the government collapsed again.

_Alfred Deakin (1905-1908): _The first repeat performance in the musical chair of the premiership (I think that metaphor's a bit tortured but oh well), actually managing to hold onto it for three years. He founded the Bureau of Statistics, took over governance of British New Guinea, tried to establish compulsory military service, invited the Great White Fleet over, and most importantly of all, got those big meaty tariffs enshrined in law. Then Labour stabbed him in the back. Figuratively, I mean - he was not stabbed at the feet of the statue of Gnaeus Pompey (or in this case, G'Dayeus Pompey.)

_Andrew Fisher (1908-1909): _Having invented the brand new Australian sport of 'knifing the leader,' Fisher approved the construction of Canberra, the new capital. Then the Protectionists and the Free Traders formed an unlikely alliance, became the Liberal Party, and stole his majority.

_Alfred Deakin (1909-1910): _Back again! Having made an unholy alliance with George Reid, Deakin was perceived to have betrayed the cause of the big meaty tariffs and got the charming nickname of Judas. He managed to buy a battlecruiser for the navy, and then he got crushed in the 1910 election.

_Andrew Fisher (1910-1913): _Are you getting confused yet? Lord knows I am. Fisher's second term saw him embark on a broadly progressive set of policies, with a whole bunch of welfare and infrastructure squared away, including what would become the Trans-Australia Railway. He tried to break corporate monopolies but his two referendums were defeated. He then lost the 1913 election by just one seat.

_Sir Joseph Cook (1913-1914): _Cook didn't get much done because he had a razor thin majority and didn't control the Senate, so he decided everyone was going to go back to the polls again to fix matters. Then a small international unpleasantness broke out in the middle of 1914, the electorate was reminded that Labor (they'd dropped the 'u') had backed an independent defence force while the Liberals hadn't, and Cook lost. Oops.

_Andrew Fisher (1914-1915): _Fisher promised that Australia would assist Britain to' the last man and the last shilling' (but also wanted to see if Australia could do that without actually sending too much to the war.) In 1915, Gallipoli happened, which was not a fun time. Fisher resigned in October and went off to be High Commissioner in London, as you do.

_Billy Hughes (1915-1923): _Career politician, wannabe soldier, conscription advocate, socialist, traitor, populist, authoritarian; Billy Hughes has been called all of this and more. He was almost comically devoted to fighting for the mother country, to the point that the Labor Party actually expelled him over the failed 1916 conscription referendum (which was a Fun Time For All Involved.) Despite this, he remained Prime Minister by creating the Nationalist Party and governing with the support of the Liberals. He then tried to pass conscription again (and failed again.) After the war he went off to Paris and knocked around Versailles during the creation of the League of Nations, being a nuisance to everyone; during which he led the opposition to the Racial Equality Clause and cheerfully and deliberately offended the Japanese delegation. This would have Lasting Repercussions. (He didn't even _want_ a League of Nations and was basically just being an enormous troll.) The Nationalists won a plurality in 1922 but needed the Country Party's help to govern; they said they would if Hughes f**ked off and died (paraphrased.)

_Stanley Melbourne Bruce (1923-1929): _If egos were physical, Bruce would need a wheelbarrow to carry his. Wealthy, imperial-minded and terrified of Bolshevism, he battled the labour movements during Australia's first Red Scare. In 1928, the government finally moved to Canberra, having hung about Melbourne since Federation; Bruce also made strides in codifying Anzac as a civic religion, whilst sending the strike busters out against actual returned soldiers. Was defeated the 1929 election so badly he lost his seat, which is what one might call an 'epic fail.'

_James Scullin (1929-1932)__:_ With about two weeks of Scullin taking office, Wall Street crashed. This was not such a good thing for James Scullin. He was told by Sir Otto Niemeyer from the Bank of England to cut all extraneous spending, which is a hard sell when you're the leader of the Labor Party - his attempt at fiscal conservatism resulted in half the party walking out in 1931 (to form the United Australia Party - no, really) while NSW Premier Jack Lang loudly pushed ideas somewhat similar to the New Deal. To absolutely nobody's surprise, the government was absolutely roflstomped at the next election.

_Joseph Lyons (1932-1939)__:_ Had a passing resemblance to Gene Wilder. They called him Honest Joe, but I've found no evidence that he ever sold used cars. He had a pretty calm term and things went well for him until 1939, when he died. This, naturally, put a crimp on his future political ambitions.

_Earle Page (1939-1939)__:_ Caretaker prime minister for about eighteen days in April 1939. Basically kept the seat warm until the UAP selected…

_Sir Robert Gordon Menzies (1939-1941)__: _Did okay for himself until September when the small matter of the worst war in human history broke out. Then he lost half his cabinet in an air crash before hanging around London for four months bothering Churchill and getting involved in the Greek campaign/fiasco. The government weren't huge fans of the PM openly trying to get Churchill's opponents to make him British Prime Minister instead, so they sacked him.

_Arthur Fadden (1941-1941)__:_ He himself was pretty popular, but the government was not, and thus well when the opposition won a vote of no confidence. Ah well. This might have had something to do with the UAP preparing to nominate Billy Hughes as their leader, which was about as appealing to the majority of parliament as a Nazi invasion.

_John Curtin (1941-1945)__:_ Soon after Labor took over, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and Singapore fell. Resultantly, Curtin quickly pulled the Australian Army out of Europe to fight in the Pacific under General MacArthur's command. MacArthur showed his gratitude by doing everything in his power to downplay and denigrate the role of Australia in the Pacific War. He died in office.

_Frank Forde (1945-1945)__:_ SEVEN. DAYS.

_Ben Chifley (1945-1949)__:_ A former engine driver, Chifley got a lot done; he expanded the welfare state, founded the Australian National University, started ASIO, strengthened the White Australia Policy, started the Snowy Mountains Scheme and… wait, one of those things is not like the others.

_Sir Robert Gordon Menzies (1949-1966)__:_ ...wait, _how long?! _But yeah, the ALP imploded, the second Red Scare happened and the economy did well, allowing Menzies to win seven elections in a row and eventually retire on his own terms. Also he went into Vietnam. Surely only good things could come of that.

_Harold Holt (1966-1967)__:_ He went missing at sea and they named a swimming pool after him. There are also other things, like Vietnam and decimal currency, but none of them are more interesting than that.

_John McEwen (1967-1968)__:_ Another caretaker PM. Cool.

_John Gorton (1968-1971)__:_ A controversial fellow, he made enemies very easily and was thus replaced. Also the moon landing footage was received at Parkes in NSW and broadcast to the world from there, so that was cool.

_Sir William McMahon (1971-1972)__:_ A prime minister who received rave reviews from his party! For example; 'utterly untrustworthy;' 'conspiratorial, devious, untrustworthy;' 'disloyal, devious, dishonest, untrustworthy, petty, cowardly;' 'that treacherous bastard;' 'Tiberius with a telephone;' 'perhaps the silliest prime minister we ever had;' '[he had] no achievements beyond actually getting the top job.' 5/5 would McMahon again.

_Gough Whitlam (1972-1975)__:_ He made university free, ended the draft, withdrew from Vietnam, pushed for Aboriginal land rights, pulled down much of the White Australia Party, and then couldn't get the budget past the Senate and got sacked by the Governor-General, an issue that still causes Minor Contention.

_Malcolm Fraser (1975-1983)__:_ Despite being traditionally cast as the arch-conservative nemesis of Whitlam, he actually kept most of his reforms going. Also he ended the White Australia Policy officially.

_Bob Hawke (1983-1991)__:_ Bob Hawke took away free university so frankly he can eat poop.

_Paul Keating (1991-1996)__:_ Keating saw native title passed into law, oversaw the 'recession we had to have' and told the leader of the opposition he planned to 'do him slowly.' Federal politics - steamier than any harlequin novel.

_John Howard (1996-2007)__:_ Famous for declaring that 'we will decide who comes into this country and the manner in which they come,' his immigration policy was controversial and would in time become the blueprint for Trump's ideas. He went full on into Iraq and Afghanistan, oversaw something of a conservative social revolution, and won elections against a man with no personality and a literal supervillain. Lost in 2007; so badly, in fact, that he lost his seat. Finally, Bruce has a friend.

_Kevin Rudd (2007-2010)__:_ Kevin 'Ideology Is For Suckers' Rudd looked a bit like Tintin, apologised for the Stolen Generations, and got in trouble with miners. Got knifed.

_Julia Gillard (2010-2013)__:_ Known for two things; the carbon tax and eviscerating Tony Abbott for misogyny on the floor of Parliament. Got knifed.

_Kevin Rudd (2013-2013)__:_ Sailed back into office as Labor's only hope, and proceeded to lose in a landslide.

_Tony Abbott (2013-2015)__:_ Ugh. Got knifed.

_Malcolm Turnbull (2015-2018)__:_ Got knifed.

_Scott Morrison (2018-inevitable knifing)__:_ Politics is exhausting.


	25. 25 10 19: Run On For A Long Time

Hello, I'm not Johnny Cash.

* * *

**25/10/19: Run On For A Long Time...**

"You can run on for a long time, run on for a long time…"

The Stranger was gathering his tools in the dark, damp shed. It was an eccentric collection - a glowing orange device built from an old WWII radio went on his back. The sword of Joan of Arc had been melted down and turned into a peculiar revolver (a modification courtesy of Mr. Grim.) The ammunition was made from his studies of Neptune's trident, among other things.

He had waited a long, long time for this.

"...you can run on for a long time… sooner or later God'll cut you down…"

He sang quietly to himself as he picked up a pamphlet from his wooden desk.

_HELP ME PAY FOR A LAWYER SO I DON'T GET EVICTED FUNDRAISING PARTY!_

He snorted behind his mask.

"Sooner or later, God'll cut you down."

* * *

_"Go and tell that long tongued liar…_"

"Mr. Grim? It's Bob. The Home Office called, they want your opinion on…"

Grim's assistant opened the door and froze.

The businessman was slumped over his desk, his hand still holding the pen he had been using to write. A dagger was stuck in his back, and red stained the ledger he had been working on. He could just about hear Grim's laboured, staggered breathing.

Slowly and carefully, Bob walked over to his boss, examining the ledger. It had been a collection of incriminating information on politicians, police officers, business people… his employees…

Bob turned and walked out of the office. The police could be informed in the morning.

* * *

_"Go and tell that midnight rider…_"

The Backslide Tavern was crowded tonight, and Calamitous had found it difficult to find a seat. There was tell that something big was planned, and there'd be rich rewards for the rogues who went along with it. He wondered who it was; Luthor? Masters? AIM? Whoever it was, they were good at getting attention.

"It's the Anti-_FAIRIES!_" thundered Crocker. "They signed my invitation!"

"Oh come on, Anti-Cosmo lacks the finesse for this," grunted Calamitous. "It's probably… um… uh…"

"I heard it were Terwilliger," mused Gideon. "Y'all know Sideshow Bob, right?"

"Not his M.O.," shrugged Vicky. "I don't care who it is, anyway, as long as they can pay."

"Where's Plankton?" asked Skulker. "He never misses Uno Night!"

"Held up at the Chum Bucket, but he called to say he was coming," replied Crocker. "I'm just glad we got a table. There's a _looooot_ of villains here today."

"Come now, Denzel, I wouldn't say we're villains…"

"I say wear the label," shrugged Crocker. "It's an identity."

"There _is_ a lot," mused Calamitous. "ManRay, Aquamarine, Bubbles Bass, Vexus…"

"All creatures great and small," nodded Gideon. "Heck, is that _Fearless Leader?_ I thought he died when the Berlin Wall came down!"

"I heard Bullwinkle shot him," said Vicky.

"Oh _yes_," said Crocker, rolling his eyes. "Hard man, that Bullwinkle."

"Wait, what's this?"

Calamitous reached forward - a fortune cookie sat on the table, alone and forgotten. Curious, he cracked it open and read the slip of paper inside.

"ERI runtime command… -execute order_66…"

He raised an eyebrow.

"No idea what _that _means…"

* * *

Plankton stepped through the portal onto the street, across the road from the Backslide Tavern. He mopped his brow and sighed.

"Who'd have thought unsuccessfully stealing a Krabby Patty formula was such hard work?" he asked himself. "Ah well, time to spend a relaxing evening with my villainous-"

There was a loud bang, and before his eyes the windows of the Backslide Tavern were blown out by a tremendous fireball. Debris was thrown all around as the roof collapsed in on itself, leaving the dark street engulfed in smoke, dust, and ultimately eerie silence.

"...friends," said Plankton, gulping.

"_...tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter… tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down…_"

* * *

The Stranger looked over his wall of pictures, lit by the dim glow of the flickering light. He continued to sing as he loaded the revolver.

"Well you may throw your rock, and hide your hand, working in the dark against your fellow man…"

He smiled once more, holstering his revolver and picking up the nozzle of an old M2 flamethrower, carefully attaching it to the contraption on his back.

"...but as sure as God made black and white, what you've done in the dark, I will bring to the light."

He nodded, slipping on his hi-vis jacket and heading towards the door.

"You can run on for a long time, run on for a long time, run on for a long time…"

Without a moment's hesitation, he stepped into the night, taking in the cool air and the distant, glowing form of the Harbour Bridge.

"Sooner or later, God'll cut you down… sooner or later, _gonna_ cut you down…"

And with that, he went to do his work.


	26. 26 10 19: SquidRiffs: How Far We've Come

Time to look back...

* * *

**26/10/19: SquidRiffs: Let's See How Far We've Come**

Hello. This is Squidward. E3's busy setting up for his dumb party thing, so he's made me read the first Halloween Unspectacular story ever. Because y'know, that's _fun._

Here we go...

* * *

Most things start with an idea. **In this case, not a good one.**

Many ideas come in bizarre ways. **In this case, very much so.**

It could come from an apple, drooping from a tree. Said apple could land on a man's head and inspire him to write several long-winded theories about how apples fall on heads. **Oh _wow_, an Isaac Newton apple reference. We're really going to bold and original places today.**

It could come from a war, a really nasty, terrible war. A war to drive a man to bitter vengeance, to drag a continent into the abyss of another. **Okay, is it _really _appropriate to make a Hitler reference in a comedy story?**

It could come from something as simple as a computer.

Finbarr Calamitous had a new computer. It was a laptop, a contraption all the way from Japan with many bizarre and high-tech features. The only thing it seemed to lack was solitaire. **New from Japan? What is this, 1992?**

As the professor dug through the files for the game without success, **Why does he care about solitare, anyway?** he accidentally poured his espresso onto the contraption. **Why do you keep calling it a 'contraption?' **Cursing quietly as the computer fizzled out, he opened it up to look at the motherboard.

This _was_ advanced, he noted. The computer's entire processing power, everything it used to function, all of it's intelligence and data – all were fitted into a tiny cube, about the size of a six-side dice. **'In the future we will all have personal zeppelins the size of a rubber duck.' That's what this sounds like.**

Calamitous scratched his chin, an idea formulating in his head.

It was time to go out. **Time to go out and find a better story, ha ha ha!**

* * *

The Napoleon Bonaparte Annual World Conquerors Meet **Of course that's what it's called. **was being held not far from Calamitous' lab. The professor could easily find a few…likeminded individuals…to help him with his new scheme. **Missing: the italics in this sentence.**

Dr. Insano was willing to help, which surprised Calamitous. Then again, nobody really knew what went on in _his_ head. **Hmm. Forgot he was literally in the first story. Well, the more you know.**

A few other lieutenants were found – Plankton, Monty Burns, Ember, some guy named General Katana **I have _no idea_ who this was supposed to be.** – and to these ***them **Calamitous explained his ideas.

That night, they broke into the lab of Dr. Robotnik and stole some plans, technical drawings, whatever could be useful. **THEY ROBBED THE EGGMAN. Why didn't they just, y'know, as him for help? **He wouldn't miss them – well, he would, but they'd be long gone when he found out he'd been robbed.

Then, Plankton's own lab, they began their plan. **Don't you mean _in?_ Or is Plankton's Lab the mastermind?**

* * *

The media picked it up early the next morning. An anonymous tip informed a local newspaper of a concert by one Ember McLain, to be held in the Dimmsdale Dimmadome on Friday night. **If Dimmsdale and Amity Park share a universe wouldn't they know that Ember's a supervillain? Then again, the people in Dimmsdale are a few strings short of a ukulele. ...heh, ukulele. Band humour.** This is being her comeback after being missing for nearly a year, the news spread like wildfire around the world. **Missing? She was an evil ghost! She exposed herself as one in a concert! It was _on camera!_** Media coverage was arranged, and a global 'Ember' craze started again. **She's not that great though.**

**Heh, better watch yourself, Squiddy, you'll send her to the _burn ward._**

**Because... because she'll be _burned._**

**_..._**

**Gotta learn to quit when you're ahead, Squidward.**

At the same time, the Chum Bucket started a contest, giving out free tickets to the concert in random meals. It was a successful promotion – sure, the food was terrible, but a free show is a free show. **Yeah, but it's the _Chum Bucket._ Plankton could offer free money and no-one would- only Mr. Krabs would come.**

The Springfield Nuclear Power Plant quickly established itself as the biggest sponsor of the show. Mr. Burns invested millions into the show, attracting great interest…and increased hype. Burns gave multiple and often bombastic press conferences, which were even seen by people with no interest in music. **I'm not really feeling his motivation, though. And wouldn't a nuclear power plant put _off_ kids interested in rock music?**

All this time, General Katana skulked around Calamitous' lab saying incoherent gibberish about something called Zeist. **Oh. _Oh. _Why would... _why would you put a Highlander 2 reference in this?_ I don't even watch movies and I'm still offended.**

Friday night quickly came. The concert had sold out quickly and the Dimmadome was full. Despite multiple attempts by Danny Phantom to disrupt the preparations, forcing the Guys in White and M.E.R.F. to establish a perimeter around the area, the first thirty minutes were a success. **Wow. What beautiful prose. Congratulations.**

About thirty-one minutes into the concert, Dr. Insano joined the maintenance crew under the stage. He delicately attached a small cubical device **the Tesseract? **to a wire extending from the boom box. Giving an insane chuckle **as opposed to a normal, everyday chuckle**, he turned it on.

* * *

It was two minutes later when ***before **anyone noticed anything wrong. Around the world, millions of people simply stopped what they were doing, stood up and started staring into space. **Millions? _Really?_ Millions of people? Millions of people got involved in this dumb concert?**

Their eyes began to glow a blood red as the device took hold of them. **And then they danced. Like a wave in the ocean. Romance. **All the people at the concert, all the people watching at home, all the people who had visited the Chum Bucket, all the people who had watched Burns' conferences**, all the lonely people, where do they all come from**…they began to change. **Insert third song reference here.**

Calamitous watched the changing people and their panicking friends and onlookers from a hotel balcony overlooking the Retroville Park. He gave a grin, and began to laugh. **Yeah, because most people don't frown and laugh.**

The change ended, and two hundred million**?!** enslaved robots set to work, rounding up the people around them, engaging the local police with ease. **I mean have you seen the Dimmsdale police? That's... that's not hard.**

As chaos washed over the streets, Calamitous finished laughing and took a sip from his espresso. To think, this had all started from a computer and an idea.

* * *

About two months later, a war between flesh and steel was ongoing. It seemed like the end of the world…and according to some, it was really, really awesome. **_Who?! _Who sees the robot apocalypse and thinks it's- you know what, don't answer that question.**

The robots, commanded by Calamitous and his 'league of evil', seemed unstoppable.

Sandy Cheeks was in her lab. She wasn't alone – most of the remaining population of Bikini Bottom were hiding in here while the army and robots fought it out outside. **Bikini Bottom has an army? I've never seen it.**

The squirrel still had no counter for the robots, no way to beat them. They had no equal.

Then it hit her. _Equal_. Send a thief to catch a thief – send a robot to catch a robot. **OH, WHAT A SURPRISE. ROBOT TRANSFORMATION. I AM SHOCKED.**

An idea came into her head…

**He's been doing this for ten years, you know. With riveting writing like that, I'm surprised anyone stuck with him for ten seconds.**

**I've been Squidward, and... _yeah._**

* * *

"Alright, I'm done, I'm going home!"

Squidward walked out of my house and out through the front yard, largely unnoticed. Steven and Connie stood by the mailbox, checking a list on a clipboard.

"We don't have a vegetarian option," said Connie. "Sam's not gonna like that. Plus I can't eat beef, so..."

"We're just gonna have to get some more food!" said Steven. "To the mall!"

"Oh, dudes, you headed to the mall?"

Soos ran up, holding a broken wrench.

"Sorry, I was just fixing that old rocket car, and I need some more tools," he said. "Can I get a lift with you?"

"Sure," Steven nodded. "C'mon, let's go..."

They headed off down the street to where the Dondai was parked. Not far away, a lone figure watched them leave, and silently cursed...


	27. 27 10 19: The News

**27/10/19: The News**

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen, I'm Kent Brockman reporting to you from our Channel Six newsroom. Our top story; thirty businesses, offices and even prison blocks have been bombed in what appears to be a coordinated attack across America."

Kent Brockman sat at his desk, the graphic next to him - 'Somebody Set Us Up The Bomb' - not quite meeting the solemnity the top story for the day deserved.

"Perhaps the most prolific attack was on DALV Corporate Headquarters in Amity Park, where the office of the CEO was blown up just before nine o'clock last night. Lance Thunder is on the scene..."

* * *

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, _I'm the weather-_ahem! Lance Thunder reporting from the ruins of DALV HQ!"

Lance Thunder straightened his tie as he gestured towards the tower, currently surrounded by armed police. High above, a plume of smoke billowed out of Vlad Masters' office - although the clear target, Vlad himself, had escaped serious injury and could clearly be seen arguing with the chief of police in the background.

"Mr. Masters was not killed or injured in the bombing," Thunder explained, "nor was anybody else, but important files relating to debts to the company were destroyed in the attack."

Dimly, somebody could be heard cheering in the distance.

"At the same time as the attack, files were leaked online claiming that Mr. Masters was secretly the ghost criminal 'Plasmius,' often referred to as the Wisconsin Ghost," continued Thunder. "Mr. Masters has categorically denied the allegations, although some lawmakers insist that the evidence stacks up. In Washington, former Mayor and Illinois Congressman Ernesto Montez stated that he intended to take the case to House Judiciary..."

Thunder jumped as Vlad stormed up, pulling the microphone away.

"Congressman Montez is nothing but a _sore loser_ and an _ideologue_," snapped Vlad. "This 'Plasmius File' is nothing but hearsay, forgery and doctored footage, and frankly it _disgusts_ me that a major news network would give it credence."

Thunder swallowed.

"M-Mr. Masters, the file alleges that the ghosts Skulker and Technus were targeted for past and present connection to your company," he said. "Wh-what do you have to say about..."

"Mr. Thunder, I am one of the richest men in the world," snarled Vlad. "_You_ are a dime-a-dozen weatherman. And if you ever, _ever_ insinuate that I am some kind of supervillain, I swear I will _destroy you so utterly_-"

A third hand - that of Damon Grey, quickly tugged at the microphone.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Masters can't comment right now," he said quickly. "Uh, sir, the Chief wants to ask you about some plane thing in the Rockies?"

Vlad's scowl deepened, and he turned to walk away.

"Mr. Grey, can you comment on-"

"No, I can't, sorry."

Thunder watched as Damon marched away.

"Well, um... this has been Lance Thunder, Channel Six."

* * *

"Thank you Lance."

The graphic behind Brockman changed again, now showing the ruins of the Backslide Tavern - this time the caption was 'Bar Room Blitz.'

"In local news, the Backslide Tavern, a gathering place of locals of ill-repute, was blown up in its busiest day of trading this year," he continued. "No less than fifty-seven ne'er-do-wells have lost their lives, and three passersby were injured. A collection of calling cards were left on the scene; a button for the British Coldstream Guards, a train ticket for the Ghan in Australia, and a signed photograph of the previous President and costumed superhero Ms. Marvel."

He grabbed a sheet of paper, reading from it.

"On the back of the ticket was written; 'I have done more for the world in one night than you have done in your entire life.' Whatever this bombing vigilante means by that, he's certainly made his entrance into the public eye with a bang."

He gave an entirely inappropriate chuckle.

"And on that note, the military base at Pine Gap in Australia has been robbed."

* * *

"I'm Shandra Jimenez at Pine Gap, southwest of Alice Springs."

Shandra stood outside a fence, Australian and American troops clearly seen running to and fro beyond. A man in a dark suit and sunglasses, sweating in the heat, stood next to her, his face impassive.

"Sources indicate that the 'Iron Monger' suit, which had previously been 'acquired' from Stark Industries by the CIA, was taken last night by a masked man who called himself the Stranger," explained Shandra. "Three American soldiers were injured. Agent, can you confirm this?"

"I can neither confirm or deny that the Iron Monger suit was stolen," said the Agent flatly.

"But you _did_ have the suit."

"I can neither confirm or deny that."

"Was the Iron Monger full operational when it was taken?"

"I can neither confirm or deny that we had the suit, nor that it was in working order."

Shandra furrowed her brow.

"Are you a CIA agent?"

"I can neither confirm or deny that."

"...can you actually say anything other than that?"

"Not legally."

Shandra sighed.

"Well, this has been Shandra Jimenez, _attempting _to report for Channel Six. Back to you, Kent."

* * *

Kent's hand was over his ear when he returned.

"This just in," he declared. "The Iron Monger suit has been sighted in airspace over the City of Melbourne, heading towards the central business district. I... hold on... I'm being told we have a live feed established from outside Flinders Street Station. Arnie?"

* * *

Arnie Pie stood in the side of the helicopter, circling over the visible form of the Iron Monger suit - it had clearly been painted in US Air Force colours. It was landing at the intersection of Flinders and Swanston Streets, just outside the famous railway station. It was a tad hard to see - a light drizzle was falling over the city - but Pie could just about make it out.

"This is Arnie Pie with Arnie in the Sky!" declared Pie. "I'm seeing the Iron Monger coming to the ground and-"

He was cut off as the suit began to speak.

"_You know who you are,_" it scowled in a metallic, distorted voice. "_You know to come here. After all... _it always rains, _doesn't it? You can't _resist._"_

It turned its head to Pie's helicopter.

"_But just in case I haven't made myself clear..._"

It raised its arm.

"_Nothing personal, Mr. Pie. But to save the multiverse, sacrifices have to be made._"

A missile shot out from above the arm, soaring towards the chopper...

* * *

"_Mayday, mayday, we are going down! Tell my wife I-_"

I pursed my lips as the screen turned to static. Slowly and awkwardly, I shrugged.

"He's... _probably fine?_"

Danny shook his head, getting up from the couch and transforming into his ghost form.

"Someone's gonna have to deal with that," he said. "May as well be us."

"Well volunteered, Fenton!" I nodded.

"...you're not coming?"

"I have to set up this party, Danny," I replied. "Besides, between you and, say, Jenny, some douche in a knock-off Iron Man suit's gonna be having a bad time anyway."

Danny frowned, but nodded.

"Okay," he said, "but I'm taking someone else to get civilians out."

"Take Amethyst," I suggested.

"'Cause the whip's good for crowd control?"

"Nah, because she keeps trying to eat the meat tenderiser."

Danny rolled his eyes.

"_Fiiine._"

He strolled outside onto the front yard and whistled to attract attention.

"Jenny, Amethyst, Peridot!" he called. "We've got a situation!"

* * *

The Informant picked up the phone.

"Stranger," they said, "it's working. Fenton and Wakeman are out of the way."

"_Good. That's his powerhouses out of the way. Now the only question is keeping them out of the picture permanently._"

"Do you have a plan?"

"_Of course I have a plan. You focus on keeping him complacent._"

"Understood."

* * *

surely this is not a trap


	28. 28 10 19: Oh No, Zombies!

What's funnier than zombies, eh?

* * *

**28/10/19: Oh No, Zombies!**

"Guys! I woke the dead!"

"Yeah, what else is new, Dib."

Timmy ignored Dib as he raced into the room, screaming - he was too focused on the YouTube video Sheen had sent him. It was a fairly standard video game let's play, and he didn't really see what was so special about it, but it was entertaining enough.

They were out in the country, in a little holiday home in the mountains rented on 'Greg Universe' money. So far, the seven had spent a relatively chill week - Timmy buried in his tablet, Dipper, Connie and Dib searching the wilderness for mysteries, Steven and Mabel working on various craft projects, and Jimmy in a makeshift lab in the attic.

Dib clutched his hair, gesticulating wildly out _the wind..._

_..."walking dead"..._

_..._

_..."we need..." ... ... ..."oh no, they bit Dip..."_

_..._

...

...

He thinks this is funny.

Walking corpses devouring people. Coming after children. He's watching over this, and instead of doing anything, he writes it down and packages it as a 'comedy.'

He thinks this is _funny._

He thought what happened to me was _funny._

So. Very. _Funny_.

...

Well I assure you. This is no laughing matter. When I'm done, he most assuredly won't find any of this funny.

And neither will you.


	29. 29 10 19: Iron Monger

I wrote this chapter IN A CAVE! WITH A BOX OF SCRAPS!

* * *

**29/10/19: Iron Monger**

When the team stepped through the portal into Melbourne, they found chaos.

The Iron Monger suit was firing indiscriminately; a strange orange laser shot from its wrist, firing into the crowds around. Each person it hit glowed for an instant, then vanished; apparently incinerated. The police had made an attempt at creating a cordon, but it hadn't gone well - patrol cars were scattered across Flinders Street in varying states of disrepair.

"Well," grunted Danny, "he's not exactly taking prisoners."

"Well, neither will we," declared Jenny.

"You there!"

A policeman ran towards them, holding his hat on with one hand and clutching a pistol in the other.

"That news helicopter went into the river up Swanston Street," he said, pointing. "We think the crew's still alive; can you get them out?"

"This looks like a job for terrakinesis!" exclaimed Peridot.

The officer blinked.

"Metal powers," said Peridot flatly.

"Right," the officer nodded. "Well, just get 'em out, you hear?"

"Peridot, Amethyst, you handle the chopper," said Danny. "Jen, you're with me. Let's take this Iron Monger to the scrapheap!"

"Nice banter," nodded Jenny.

"Thanks, I've been thinking it over in my head the whole way here."

The two soared into the sky, leaving the gems and the policeman alone.

"So you, uh, you're the only real option we have, aren't you?" said the policeman doubtfully.

"Fraid so, man," nodded Amethyst.

* * *

A platoon of light armoured vehicles was rolling over the bridge as Peridot and Amethyst reached it, supported by infantry. The gems paid them no heed, turning to the water.

The Channel Six chopper was bobbing on the surface, clearly on fire. It was just close enough for a fire truck to spray it from the park on the far side, but the plume of water seemed to be having no effect. Next to it, people were being herded onto the grass by the police - it seemed to be the evacuation point.

"Right, helicopter," said Amethyst. "Lift 'er up, Peri!"

Peridot smiled and held up her hands.

"_BEHOLD THE MIGHT OF PERIDOT!_"

There was a long silence; nothing happened.

"Uh, 'Dot? Nothing's happening."

Peridot furrowed her brow.

"I _said... BEHOLD THE MIGHT OF PERIDOT!_"

Somewhere in the distance, they heard a cough.

"What is that thing made of?" thundered Peridot, throwing her hands down. "I can't lift it! It's like it's made of non-metallic materials!"

"Or maybe you're just not..."

"Amethyst, if you tell me I'm trying hard enough, I'll throw you in the river."

Amethyst nodded.

"Alright," she said. "My turn. Hold my whip."

"Can't you just put this in your gem?" asked Peridot, taking it.

Amethyst didn't reply, instead diving off the bridge and into the water.

* * *

"Stop dodging you jerk!"

Danny fired another ectoblast, with the Iron Monger dodged - instead he hit an empty tram, which exploded and fell on its side.

"He keeps dodging!" snapped Danny. "He's making us do more damage than he is!"

"Tell me about it, I think I blew up the Eb Store!" shouted Jenny.

"I think that's a game store of some kind," mused Danny.

He shook his head.

"Look, we gotta corner him!"

The Iron Monger swung left, onto La Trobe Street - on the intersection just ahead of him were a platoon of vehicles and soldiers, which immediately opened fire. Danny cursed as he dodged the rounds that missed the Iron Monger.

"Shoot him, not me!" he exclaimed.

A high calibre round struck the Iron Monger and it was knocked backwards - but it had just enough time to fire a salvo of rockets from the wrist. The intersection of La Trobe and Elizabeth Street was lit up in fire as each of the vehicles exploded, sending the infantry running for cover.

A second later, Jenny was on him, grabbing one of its arms.

"Repulser tech, huh?" she asked. "What happens if I do this?"

She transformed her hand into a drill and thrust it into the Iron Monger's palm. The repulser exploded in a cloud of smoke and sparks - a moment later, the Iron Monger's free hand was slamming into Jenny's face, knocking her off it.

The Iron Monger made to rocket off, but with half of its right-hand propulsion gone, it simply swung around the corner onto Elizabeth Street and into a building. Rubble and dust filled the air.

"Do you see him?" demanded Danny.

Jenny blinked, activating infra-red vision.

"He's on foot, heading down the street!" replied Jenny. "Looks sorta goofy, actually..."

* * *

Amethyst surfaced next to the Channel Six helicopter, calling out to the occupants. She could see Arnie Pie in the main crew compartment, covered in blood but clearly alive.

"Hold on!" she called. "I'm gonna lift you out!"

She dived down, making for the helicopter's underside. Swimming up, she reached up to take hold of one of the skids...

...and her hand went straight through the apparently solid metal.

"What?" asked Amethyst - or at least she tried to. Her voice was garbled by the water.

She furrowed her brow and pushed up; again, the expected resistance of metal failed to materialise and she found herself _inside_ the helicopter. In front of her eyes, she could see a little floating crystal - when she touched it, the whole chopper seemed to _flicker_ in and out of reality.

"Wait a minute..."

She reached out and crushed the object in her palm. The helicopter seemed to dissolve into static, like a bad tv signal, and disappeared.

She frowned, leaping out of the water, spinning in the air, and landed next to Peridot.

"Did you bubble it?" Peridot asked.

"_It _wasn't there to begin with," replied Amethyst, holding up the remains of the crystal. Peridot's eyes widened.

"A light bee!" she exclaimed. "It was a _hologram!_"

"He didn't attack Arnie Pie," nodded Amethyst. "Arnie Pie wasn't there to start with..."

"Oi, you two!"

The policeman was running back up, now covered in sweat and grime.

"We just got a call from bloody _Canberra_," he said. "Apparently people from Melbourne are just... appearing there. Saying they got hit by some kind of beam?"

Amethyst and Peridot glanced at each other.

"This is a ruse," said Peridot. "He's not trying to destroy this city."

"He just wanted to lure us over here!" exclaimed Amethyst. "Why would he do that?"

Peridot scratched her chin.

"His weapons are fake," she said, "but Danny and Jenny..."

"_Shoot_," nodded Amethyst. "He's not destroying anything - but _we are._"

"He... he did destroy a whole bunch of LAVs," the policeman pointed out.

"Did they shoot him first?" asked Peridot.

"Well... yeah, that's a good point..."

* * *

The Iron Monger raced into a bookshop on Collins Street, leaping down an elevator onto the main floor. Danny and Jenny were hot on its tail, and before it could do much else, Danny's ectoblast was upon him; it ducked, and the blast destroyed a row of shelves.

The Iron Monger tried to get up, but now Jenny was on it, grabbing it by the arm and hurling it into the counter (the cashiers leapt out of the way in a panic.)

It stumbled to it's feet, and Danny stood up.

"Oh no you _DON'T!_"

The ghostly wail slammed into it like a tidal wave, knocking it into the far wall and destroying everything in its path. When the dust cleared, there was nothing but ruins between him and the mech. The staff and customers had pressed themselves against the far wall, terrified.

Danny and Jenny advanced - Danny's hand glowed green and Jenny had a pair of giant ray guns extending from her wrists.

"So, what I really wanna know," declared Danny, "is _who are you?_"

He reached out and grabbed the Iron Monger's helmet, ripping it off. His eyes widened, and he gasped.

The suit was empty.

"_I'm sorry to disappoint you, Phantom,_" the Stranger's voice came from the onboard speaker, but it was clear to all that he'd never been there in the first place.

"Really?" demanded Jenny. "You couldn't even show up to the climactic rain battle thing? _Lame._"

"_Oh, there will be a climactic battle_," the Stranger replied, "_but I'm afraid neither of you will be there to see it._"

There was a flash of light, and suddenly they and the suit were surrounded by a pulsing force field.

"_I want you to understand this isn't personal,_" the Stranger said. "_Remember, he sent you hear. I hope he understands - it's his fault. It's _all _his fault._"

"What're you talking about?" demanded Jenny. "What're you doing?!"

"_Initiate self-destruct._"

The suit began to glow, and Danny's breath caught in his throat. He swung around, pounding on the force field.

"Get help!" he shouted. "Please, get help!"

The staff and customers outside bolted; one, a child of about twelve, gazed at him for a second in abject fear, before racing off after his parents. Into the street they fled, leaving Danny and Jenny alone.

"C'mon!" shouted Jenny, shaking Danny's shoulder. "We've gotta break out of this shield! We've..."

"He was scared of me," said Danny, numbly.

"_Danny! _Focus on that later, we've gotta-"

* * *

Amethyst and Peridot were a little way down Collins Street when it was rocked by a mighty explosion. The Dymocks bookstore disappeared in fire and smoke, as people all around screamed and ducked for cover. Then came the concussive blast, and both gems were knocked off their feet.

For a moment, all Amethyst heard was ringing.

"...anyone in there?! _Was anyone in there?!_"

"I saw two... fighting it, but they were even more dangerous... everyone else got out..."

"Platoon, secure the Dymocks! Move, _move!_"

"...you alright?"

Amethyst blinked. A soldier was offering her hand - numbly, she let her pull her to her feet.

"I-Iron Monger?" she asked.

"Don't worry, ma'am," the soldier replied. "We've checked. All three threats seem to be down, Melbourne's safe."

"Th... three threats?"

The soldier didn't reply, running to rejoin her squad.

Amethyst stood in the middle of a ruined, chaotic Collins Street, hearing police cars and ambulances in the distance. The air was still choking with dust and rubble, and there was a distinct metallic smell. Slowly, she pulled Peridot up, and faintly saw her own pale, horrified face in the green gem's visor.

She could just about hear the commissioner of police talking to a reporter nearby.

"We will find the ringleader behind this attack," he declared, "and we will bring the wrath of god on their heads."

* * *

Daggummit i hate it when the wrath of god falls on my head.


	30. 30 10 19: Party At E3's

**30/10/19: Party At E3's**

"Are you absolutely sure," asked Timmy, "that you should be having a big, loud party at your house when you're being evicted for noise complaints?"

I shrugged.

"Probably not," I replied. "But the proceeds go to legal fees, so..."

The party was in full swing, and I stood out in the front yard, standing next to the barbeque. I wasn't cooking - that would have been a fire hazard. Instead I was observing Spongebob cook instead, while I hung around doing nothing of any real help.

"Heard from Danny?" I asked.

"Nah, but they've probably got it handled," replied Timmy.

"Yeah, probably."

Not far away, Sandy sat on the porch, looking over the letter we'd received earlier.

_You are a fraud, and in time everyone will know who you really are._

"Who wrote this?" she wondered out loud. "Who'd send this to him?"

"Honestly?" Dani walked out of the house and sat down next to her. "Probably a lot of people. E3's made a lot of enemies."

"Yeah, but..."

"Y'know, like the Yobbo Pirates, multiple European monarchs, his own neighbours..."

"But..."

"...the Sicilian Mafia, Henry Cavill, the Teamsters Union..."

"Yeah, but..."

"...the Martians, HYDRA, Reed Richards..."

"Okay, okay, I get it," grunted Sandy. "I'm just sure I recognise this handwriting... just, from _where?_"

Dani shrugged and stood up.

"Whoever it is, it's probably not a big deal," she replied. "People get hate mail all the time! Don't worry about it."

She walked away, leaving Sandy perplexed.

Outside the garage, Stan and Ford were in discussion with Garnet, Bismuth and Pearl.

"So Dipper and Mabel couldn't make it?" asked Pearl.

"I'm afraid not," replied Ford. "They're on a school trip."

"And Wendy's watching the Shack," added Stan. "So she ain't comin' either."

"Oh well," Ford shrugged. "Life goes on."

"Speakin' of things that ain't here," Stan gazed into the garage. "Where's that Rolls E3 has? The one he got ambushed by pirates in?"

"It's in for a service, he said," replied Bismuth. "There's a Rocket Car in there, though."

"Yeah, I don't care about that."

Inside the house, Jimmy, Lapis, Sam and Tucker were gathered around the table, playing the Game of Life.

"I thought games were supposed to be an escape," mused Jimmy. "I have six kids and a mortgage!"

Tucker shrugged.

"I mean, you don't _normally _have that," he said. "It's... it's roleplaying."

"Who wants to roleplay becoming an office drone?" asked Sam incredulously.

"Hey," Lapis shrugged. "For me, this is an entirely new world."

"That's a good point," mused Sam. "Do gems have taxes?"

"Well, we don't really have money, so..."

"Alright, anarchist utopia!" exclaimed Tucker.

"Actually our lives are basically planned out from the moment we emerge," said Lapis, "and until recently were controlled by three dictators and a massive cosmic bureaucracy."

Tucker blinked.

"Well... uh..."

"Quit while you're ahead, Tucker," Jimmy advised.

In the other room, Dib and Patrick sat on the couch.

"So you're a starfish," mused Dib. "How do you think? You don't have a brain."

"You saying I'm dumb?" demanded Patrick.

"No, I'm saying that biologically speaking, you don't have a brain."

"You've got a real smart mouth there, mister! Maybe I oughta teach you a lesson!"

"Look, I'm just saying that biologically, starfish don't have a-_oof!_"

Dib tumbled off the couch as Patrick socked him in the face.

"...why are we hanging out?" he asked weakly. "We have nothing in common."

"Well, neither of us has a brain!" said Patrick, smiling.

"...I hate you, Patrick."

Back outside, I had turned on the radio. I sighed as I listened to the weather forecast, looking up at the greying sky.

"Yep, they say it's rain," I grunted. "_Fantastic._ We'll have to move inside soon."

Sandy looked up from her perch on the porch.

"Rain?" she said. "Does... does anyone else think that's..."

"A pain? Yeah, absolutely. C'mon, Spongebob, let's get that ready before it gets here..."

Sandy looked up at the sky, frowning.

"This ain't right," she muttered.

* * *

"You've caused me a lot of _trouble_, Stranger," said Vlad, speaking on his mobile phone as his limo drove along the road. "Why on Earth would I back this ludicrous tale about Daniel conspiring with..."

He paused, listening.

"...ah, _blackmail._ I see. Alright, you little cretin, you have a deal. Never call me again, and stay out of my business."

He hung up, an angry scowl on his face. He pressed the button that allowed him to speak to his driver.

"Police station," he ordered. "I need to make an anonymous tip-off..."

* * *

Stevonnie was at the store, looking over the tomatoes, when Steven's phone rang. They checked it - it was Amethyst - and picked up, smiling.

"Hey Amethyst! Just checking, do you want me to pick up the bruised ones for you-"

"_Stevonnie! Listen, this is really important! I can't get Pearl, I think she has her phone off. Are you still out?_"

"Yeah? Do you want me to-"

"_No, listen, this is really important; do _not_ go back to E3's house! Stay away!_"

"But-"

"_Don't question it! Just _stay away!_"_

* * *

"Kent Brockman reporting for Channel Six with breaking news. The Victoria Police in Melbourne have just confirmed the identity of the ringleader of today's violent attack. Authorities have warned the public to be on the lookout for..."

* * *

"Alright, let's get inside before it starts to..."

"Are you E350?"

The voice, garbled by a mask, almost caused me to jump out of my skin.

There, on the street, was a man. He wore a gasmask under a hood, the dark top contrasting with the orange hi-vis jacket and faded jeans. Strapped to his back was what appeared to be a flamethrower, and he carried a strange looking revolver in his holster. I could not see his eyes, but there appeared to be a malevolent glint in the glass eyeholes of the mask.

It was not at all a figure that I could say I'd seen before.

"Yeah," I replied. "And you are?"

"You can call me the Stranger," he replied. "And I'm here to make you pay."

I blinked.

"You're not an enforcer for the Sicilian Mafia, are you?" I asked lamely.

I heard him snort as the nozzle of his flamethrower began to glow orange.

"When I'm done," he replied, "you'll wish I was."

* * *

"Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily." - Napoleon


	31. 31 10 19: error-titlecorrupted

**31/10/19: error-title_corrupted**

You could have heard a pin drop that day.

By now, everyone had gathered on the front lawn, gazing at this odd stranger claiming to have a vendetta against me. The first droplets of rain went almost unnoticed as we stared each other down.

Then a laugh broke the silence.

"Really?" I asked. "You think you can take us? Come on mate, you've got a flamethrower and a shiny pistol. Between this group, we've stopped, like, eight apocalypses."

"Well, you haven't really stopped..." Ford began.

"You know what, I haven't _caused_ any, and that's enough."

"Oh, you may not have caused apocalypses, but you've certainly done nothing to stop them," growled the Stranger.

I blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"Nuclear war," listed the Stranger. "Planetary annihilation. Nazi victory. You've seen it all, and all you've done is use these horrors to write stories. To make a name for yourself. Don't you remember? _Thirty-one days, thirty-one-_"

"Halloween Unspectacular?" I titled my head. "Is that what this is about?"

The Stranger nodded.

"How many have people have suffered and died, for you to package their experiences as 'funny day?'" he asked. "How many scores of people have been annihilated, only for their tales to be rendered as a shock story for your readers. How do you even decide whose stories you tell?"

"I... mate, I am _nowhere near _competent enough to help these people."

"How would you know?" the Stranger spat. "You don't even try. After all, you thought my story was hilarious..."

"Your... who the hell...?"

I shook my head.

"Look, just get off my lawn, alright?" I said testily. "We're done."

"On that, we can agree," nodded the Stranger. "Who's first?"

Pearl stepped forward, her spear drawn.

"You might think you're pretty amazing," she said cockily, "but let's see you take on a terrifying renegade Pearl!"

"I'll do better than that," replied the Stranger.

He held up the flamethrower.

"I'll take you _all_ on."

Stan strolled forward, arms crossed.

"Yeah, good luck with that, you-"

The Stranger fired.

The plume of light that emerged was far larger than anyone could have expected; it looked to be the size and mass of an express train. It slammed into Stan, and for a moment I could see his outline in the swirling orange - he seemed to disintegrate into fine dust.

"_Stanley!_"

The plume thundered onwards, smashing into the garage. It hit the Rocket Car, which instantly exploded into a ball of flame. The Stranger pulled the nozzle up, and the beam smashed through the roof and into the sky.

"Holy...!" I exclaimed.

"Garnet! We need..." began Pearl.

"On it."

Garnet grabbed Pearl's hands and they swirled around; a short light display later, Sardonyx stood on my lawn, war hammer ready. She turned to face the oncoming light.

"I'm afraid your fireworks display ends here," she declared, knocking the plume away with her weapon. It slammed onto the road, bounced upwards, and smashed through the house across the road.

"Oh sh... sorry! Didn't mean to do that!" I called, hoping the neighbours would hear.

The plume swung back round, and Sardonyx made ready to receive it. There was a sudden bang and a blue light, and her eyes widened.

Her form turned to dust before my eyes, revealing the Stranger, pistol drawn.

"_Sardonyx!_" exclaimed Bismuth. "You little-"

She screamed, turning her fist into a hammer and charging the Stranger. He simply turned the pistol on her and fired one shot, disintegrating her before she could get close.

The plume of light shot over my head, crashing through the roof and swinging round once more. I leapt out of the way as it soared across the grass, collecting Patrick and Tucker on its journey - they didn't even have time to cry out.

"Underground!" I shouted. "Get to the armoury!"

Underneath the house was an armoury, which contained a small arsenal - including the Anti-Magic Tommy Gun when it wasn't being used. There were two access hatches; one under the floor in the review room, the other in the garden. It was the first of these that we now made a break for.

The plume was already snaking its way back around, but before it could hit, a wall of green light was blocking it's path. I looked up - Dani was holding it in place with an ectoplasmic shield, visibly struggling; she had just the right angle to protect herself from being shot by the Stranger.

"Dani!" Timmy called.

"Get inside!" shouted Dani. "I can't... I can't hold him forever!"

A number of fire hydrants, hose pipes and water tanks burst open across the street as Lapis flew up next to her, augmenting the ghostly shield with a watery one. She flew up next to Dani, giving the half-ghost her support.

"Just get inside!" she called. "We'll be fine!"

"No!" exclaimed Timmy. "I won't leave Dani, I- get off me!"

Ford had grabbed him by the collar and was pulling him inside.

I reached the review room and shoved the table aside, pulling a tile out of the floor and revealing the steel trapdoor above the armoury. I held my hand above it, allowing it to be scanned.

"_Welcome: E. 3. Fifty. Please. Inform me. Of. The Password. Please._"

"Argh! Why did I use that security system from McAfee!" I exclaimed.

"_Sorry. That... Password. Is in. Corr. Ect._"

"Montgomery!" I shouted.

The door swung open, revealing a ladder down into the armoury.

"Okay, so who's climbing in first?" asked Jimmy. "You or..."

"_Just go!_" bellowed Sandy, shoving him down the hole. She jumped down after him.

Dib piled down next, then Sam, Spongebob and Ford. Before long it was just me and Timmy. I made to climb in, but noticed Timmy staring through a hole in the roof, watching Dani and Lapis starting to waver against the light plume.

"Turner, get a move on!" I shouted.

"We have to help them," he said numbly. "We have to..."

Dani turned her head.

"Timmy!" she shouted. "I can't... hold it! _Get in there!_"

"No! I won't leave you!" Timmy replied.

"Just... _GO!_"

The shield broke, and the light washed over Dani and Lapis.

"_NO!_"

I grabbed Timmy's collar and tugged him back, tumbling down the hole. For a moment, all I could see beyond was swirling orange light; then there was darkness as the door automatically closed.

* * *

"We've informed the local police, and have been told that they are moving to capture the ringleader now," said the commissioner. "This will be over very soon."

Amethyst paced next to the press conference, the police preventing her from getting closer. They were gathered at Southern Cross Bus Terminal, next to the Railway Station of the same name; it had been converted into a crisis response centre. Peridot sat on the curb, anxiously running her hand over a blanket she'd found.

"C'mon, _c'mon_, if they'd just let us _tell _him they're going after the wrong..."

A policeman walked by, and Amethyst's brow raised - it was the same cop who had flagged them down when they'd arrived. Quickly, she grabbed his arm.

"Yo, dude, you know it wasn't Fenton, right?" she asked. "It was that Iron Monger! You were there, tell 'em they're..."

The cop shook his head.

"Sorry ma'am, it ain't worth my job," he replied.

"Worth your... what the heck are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Commissioner's orders; we're not to question police operations in a time of crisis," replied the policeman. "If I say anything to anyone, I could get sacked."

"But they're going after an innocent person!" shouted Amethyst.

The policeman nodded.

"Yeah? What else is new? Now if you'll excuse me, I got bloody work to do."

He walked off, leaving Amethyst fuming.

* * *

"Damn it, where's the light?"

After much fumbling, I switched on the light, revealing the austere concrete interior of the armoury. It wasn't much; just a main room with a few racks of weapons and a back room that served as a makeshift fallout shelter. There were two entrances - the one we had come through, and a tunnel that led to the backyard. The door to this second exit was closed, but not locked.

"Okay, Jimmy, go into the back room and set up the security system," I ordered. "Timmy, I need you to-_oof!_"

I fell back as Timmy punched me in the face.

"You left her to die!" he shouted.

"Timmy!" Ford ran over, putting a hand on his shoulder. "There's nothing we could have done. If there was, Stanley would be here too, and so would Sardonyx and Bismuth..."

"...and Tucker," said Sam glumly.

"...and Patrick," added Spongebob.

"Exactly," nodded Ford. "None of us expected this, but we can't get demoralised. We'll deal with the Stranger, and we'll... I don't know, we can time travel or go on a quest to the afterlife or whatever is necessary. You understand? We'll do whatever we can, just... we need to focus, alright?"

Timmy took a deep breath.

"Okay."

"Right," nodded Ford, "weapons. Does state law prohibit me from giving children guns?"

As Ford worked out who was allowed to carry what weapons, I wandered over to the safe that contained the Anti-Magic Tommy Gun. As I entered the code, Sandy came over.

"So I think I know who wrote that letter," she said.

"Yeah, so do I," I replied grumpily. "I think he just wrecked my house."

"No," Sandy replied. "No he didn't. Look."

She held up two pieces of paper, and I scanned both of them.

_You are a fraud, and in time everyone will know who you really are._

_HELP ME PAY FOR A LAWYER SO I DON'T GET EVICTED FUNDRAISING PARTY!_

I pursed my lips.

"What am I looking at here?" I asked.

"The handwriting," replied Sandy. "Notice something?"

"Uh... one's in capital letters and the other one isn't?" I shrugged. "I really... I really don't get what you..."

"Don't play dumb with me, E3."

I trailed off, swallowing.

"So... what do you notice?" she repeated.

I didn't reply, looking down at the floor.

"Because you know what I notice?" she replied. "They're the _same handwriting._ The Stranger didn't write that letter."

The air felt thick with tension, and I found myself unconsciously pressing the buttons on the safe harder.

"_You did._"

For a long time, we stared at each other in utter silence. My eyes fell on the letter in her hands, crinkled from being handled all month.

How it had gotten mixed with the other letters, I couldn't tell. Most likely, I'd dropped it in the 'in' pile by mistake. Certainly it had never been intended to be _seen_ by anyone. But nevertheless, there it was, in her hand. It had allowed her to penetrate the shield; the happy-go-lucky, eccentric shield of strange adventures on the Hume Highway, stupid rivalries with monarchs and historical figures and a total refusal to engage with the world in a serious manner. I had been exposed.

In that moment, I was horribly aware that she saw me plain.

"It's okay to need help, you kn-"

The lights suddenly shut off.

The room was bathed in red emergency lights as I sprung to my feet, Tommy Gun in hand. The automated voice blared; "_Warning. Security procedures deactivated._"

"_Deactivated?!_" I exclaimed. "Neutron, what the hell did you-"

I turned. Jimmy stood in the shelter door, his eyes glowing white.

"J... Jimmy?"

Jimmy turned to me, his gaze almost accusatory.

"**you brought this on yourself**"

A _creak_ filled the air, and we watched in horror as the door opened. For a few seconds, the Stranger stood in the doorway, eerily illuminated by the flashing red. Ford and Dib, who had both grabbed submachine guns (Dib looking particularly nervous), took aim, but I found myself frozen.

He pulled his revolver, adding a faint blue glow to the red.

He fired first at the weapon rack, igniting the ammunition crates beneath them. The blast sent Dib flying across the room - Ford opened fire, but this did little more but earn him the second shot.

The third hit Jimmy - apparently the Stranger had no more use for him. Sam grabbed a chair and lunged at him, but he dodged nimbly and blasted her.

Finally, I was able to move - back, away, towards the shelter. I cried something but couldn't quite fathom what - it seemed to work, and Sandy, Spongebob, Timmy and Dib bolted towards the back.

Another crate exploded, and a chunk of steel slammed into Sandy's head. She was knocked off her feet and disappeared into the building smoke and fire. I didn't stop - _couldn't _stop. The primal urge to survive overtook everything else.

Timmy got into the shelter first, then me. By the time I was in, Timmy had already slammed his fist on the emergency lockdown button behind the doorway - the steel door slammed shut, and I could see Spongebob and Dib slam into it through the window.

"Timmy!" I shouted. "Open it! _Open it!_"

The Stranger advanced on Spongebob and Dib, and as I stepped back I could hear them screaming.

"What're you doing?! Let us in! **_LET US-!_**"

Then there was the blue flash, and they were gone.

"Timmy!" I bellowed. "What... what the hell was-"

"I thought there'd be a delay!" exclaimed Timmy. "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, I didn't.."

I clutched my head.

"_Who the hell is he, anyway?!_" I demanded. "What did I even do to him?! I just... what the hell did I even do to deserve-"

The door exploded, and I flew backwards into the concrete wall. My vision swam; my ears rang. I felt sick to the stomach.

And then, out in the smoke, I heard a whistling. It was a song I had heard long ago, and it took me a few seconds to realise what it was.

"..._no,_" I whispered. "It... _it can't be..._"

"Is he... is humming..."

I swallowed and I heard him sing the last line.

"_...hail to the Bus Driver... Bus Driver man."_

* * *

**31/10/19: Hail to the Bus Driver**

"A-are you _shitting me?!_" I exclaimed. "You... _the Bus Driver?!_ You're a comic relief character!"

The Stranger - the Bus Driver - shook his head.

"That's all I ever was to you, wasn't it?" he snarled. "A _comic relief character. _Someone to _laugh at. _Someone who changed jobs a lot because _how funny is that?_"

"It is... it is _kinda _funny though..."

"I lost a job as a bus driver, a train guard, airport security and a boatman," he snapped. "With a resume like that, you don't get new employment. I lost my house. I lost my _wife._ And at any time, you could have come in and helped. You could have told Insano to lay off me. You could have given me a reference for when they _sacked me_ for that bus trip that made your _damn Fiddley Thing _famous."

"Jesus, they sacked you for that?" I asked. "And wait, you have a wife?"

"I have more than that," replied the Bus Driver. "I have a _name_. Do you know what it is?"

I blinked.

"..._Kev?_"

The Bus Driver reached out, grabbing Timmy by the collar and pushing his revolver into his forehead.

"Wait, wait, okay, okay, I'm sorry!" I pushed the Tommy Gun away and raised my hands. "I shouldn't have made fun of you, okay! I shouldn't have..."

"You know, there's a lot of things you didn't bother to describe," continued the Bus Driver. "You remember the Fiddley Thing Mk. I? What did it look like again, huh?"

"It... has a knob? I dunno, just let him go..."

"A knob, yes - and it's powered by a _uranium rod_," growled the Bus Driver. "And you know what happens to people when they get exposed to uranium rods, and they _don't_ have scientist friends?"

"Oh... oh god, that's... look, we can fix that, we can fix that, just... just calm down, okay..."

"I'm very calm," replied the Bus Driver. "I've never been calmer than I am right now. You took _everything _from me."

"It was _Insano! _I just wrote about it! I _don't have the power to-_"

"...but you had the power to bring Sandy, Dipper and Wendy back to life," said the Bus Driver. "Remember..."

I thought back.

_"It's the centre of this part of the multiverse," I replied, "I call it the Unspectacular Branch. I'm it's caretaker."_

_I scratched my head._

_"Kinda blundered into that role, actually," I shrugged, "I'm in no way qualified for the job, let me tell you."_

...

_I sighed, and sat back at my computer. I looked down at my keyboard for some time._

_"No," I decided, "It doesn't end like this."_

_I began to type._

"...oh," I said. "_That_..."

"You _could _have helped," nodded the Bus Driver. "You could have helped _so many people_. You just... _didn't._ And that makes you just as responsible."

I swallowed.

"Okay," I said. "Okay, you've made your point. I'm selfish, I'm terrible, I'm a fraud and I _know it_, just... just..."

My voice broke.

"...not him. _Please..._ not him."

The Bus Driver stared at me. Through the glass eyeholes, I could see his eyes narrow.

"I'm sorry," he replied, "but we're both long past the point of no return."

He fired. For a second, Timmy glowed - then before my eyes, he turned to dust.

My feet gave way, and I tumbled onto my knees. An unbearable numbness set in, as I felt my hands shake. I looked up at him - it wasn't that I felt sad, or angry - that would have been much better than the terrible, gaping emptiness I felt inside.

"Okay," I said. "Do it. Just do it."

"Do what?" he asked. "Kill you?"

He snorted humourlessly.

"No," he replied. "You don't get to die. You get to live with this. You get to remember, every day of your life, that this was your fault. By god, I hope you live to be an old man."

A portal opened up behind him.

"Goodbye, _old friend._"

He stepped backwards into the swirling vortex and it closed behind him, leaving me alone amidst the smoke and flame.

I don't remember much of what happened next. I remember being pulled to my feet, and a voice in my ear - "I got'cha, let's get outta here."

The next thing I remember, I was lying on the grass of what remained of my front lawn, the flattened remains of my house still smouldering in the rain. Sandy knelt over me, her fur stained red from a head wound, but otherwise very much alive. I could sirens and shouting as the police arrived.

An officer - Officer Eddie, wasn't it? - knelt down next to me.

"O... officer?"

"It's okay," he told me. "We've got the perp..."

* * *

"I am being told now," said the commissioner, "that US Police are currently apprehending the mastermind, and..."

"No! You've got the wrong person!"

Amethyst pushed through the reporters, charging the podium.

"Listen to me! You've got the wrong-"

There were a series of a loud pops as police officers fired, and Amethyst disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Her gem clattered to the ground, swiftly being picked up by a federal policeman.

"Canberra will want this," he declared. "Get the other one too, she might be in on this!"

The police turned on Peridot - she had just enough time to brace as they opened up.

"As I was saying," the commissioner said, "we have been told that the culprit is being taken into custody as we speak, and that she will face her day in court very soon..."

* * *

"You... you got the Bu..."

I sat up, only to find Sandy being violently pinned against a police car by Officer Lou.

"You're under arrest for murder and arson," he declared. "You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

"But... be she..."

"It's okay, kid," said Eddie. "It's all over now."

I watched in numb silence as Sandy was bundled into the back of the police car. For a moment, she gazed back, and our eyes met.

"She's going away for a very long time," he said.

The door slammed, and the car drove off into the storm. I fell on my back, looking up at the storm clouds as the rain covered my glasses in spots of water. I could not speak, could not _feel_ as I tried desperately to process what had happened.

Somewhere in the ruined house, covered in dust and mud and rain, was a small photograph taken long ago; it was of myself, Danny, Sam and Tucker in the review room - a room, a house and a group that no longer existed.

The wind picked up and blew it out into the storm.

* * *

"And now, the end is near... and so I face... the final curtain..."

The Stranger walked into a small tunnel under his shack - a decommissioned storm water drain - and through a small room full of tubes. In each tube, there was a figure, slumbering in suspended animation.

He stopped at the end, looking at the last one - a boy in a pink hat. He smiled, running his hand on the glass - for a moment, the boy opened his eyes, revealing them to be a stark white. It was the same for everybody else along the row - from Danny to Spongebob, Jenny to Dib.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"...but more... much more than this... I did it _my way..._"

* * *

HALLOWEEN UNSPECTACULAR X

OCTOBER 2020


End file.
